


The Other One

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Slow Burn, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 55,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thought he knew everything about Sherlock, but he didn't know that he had another brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever! Please be kind.
> 
> A big thank you to my long-suffering bestie diewarm who listened to and weighed in on all of the crazy and had no problem with inappropriate discussions in diners.
> 
> Thank you also to jegray, who has been such a cheerleader and so supportive when I thought that I didn't know how to form a sentence anymore.
> 
> Last, but not least, a huge thank you to gowerstreet who is a fantastic beta and britpicker and who was a great help to this newbie author.
> 
> PS - This is not a WIP! It has been fully written and chapters will be posted every few days as they receive their final edits. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Sherlock had been harder to read over the last year since his return. He was different. He seemed more considerate. He had planned a wedding for God’s sake. And then was shot in the chest for his trouble by the bride. But yet, he had still told John to trust her. And John had trusted her. He had trusted her until Sherlock had been released from hospital for the second time and had taken a look at that fucking flash drive. John knew that Sherlock and the flash drive would not be able to coexist in 221B without him looking at it, so as soon as the worst patient on the planet was able to be vertical for more than a few minutes, he handed it over. If nothing else, it kept Sherlock in one spot while he voraciously read everything that it contained.

What it contained was an obviously incomplete overview of what she did before she was Mary Morstan. Sherlock immediately started a timeline and saw the huge gaps that coincided with some of dealings that they had with Moriarty and knew at that point that Mary had been involved with dear old Jim. So Mary was still hiding after all of her talk. She must know that Sherlock would figure out the gaps but she was probably counting on him running off by himself like he would in the past and not letting John in on what was going on. Those days were over. Sherlock knew now that in order for John to trust him he would always have to be honest. And he valued John too much to put that trust in jeopardy.

The curious thing that Sherlock had noticed was a name that appeared more than once in the files. Ford Vernet. He didn’t say anything to John, but he didn’t consider that hiding anything. No. He merely needed some confirmation before broaching the topic. The only logical solution was a hateful call to Mycroft.

Mycroft arrived after receiving Sherlock’s text while John was at the shops. He had finally decided that Sherlock was well enough to be left alone for a few hours while he ran some errands and he notified the ever present security team that he was leaving. Sherlock thought this was an excellent opportunity to discuss some things with his older brother.

“I see that you’ve been busy,” Mycroft said, entering the sitting room to be presented with the sight of Sherlock entrenched on the sofa with his laptop, John’s laptop and several mobiles. Sherlock was still dressed in his pajama trousers, a soft t-shirt and dressing gown and his hair was still damp from a recent shower. Mycroft observed and inclined his head slightly in approval. His brother was being well taken care of and was enjoying having John’s attention again immensely. 

Sherlock glared at him and didn’t deign to answer. “Ford Vernet,” he said flatly. 

“Where did you hear that name?” Mycroft asked, eyes widening slightly before smoothing his face to its usual calm demeanor. In anyone else, this reaction would have been conveyed as absolute shock and not many people would have noticed the slight slip. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games, Mycroft. AGRA.”

“I see. And John knows that you’ve read the AGRA files?”

“Don’t,” Sherlock warned. “Of course, he knows. He gave them to me. Using a classic avoidance technique, really Mycroft? I need answers. Now.” 

Mycroft conceded this small clash of wills with a raised eyebrow and a sigh, “Tell me what you know.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response to Mycroft’s concession. “The AGRA files are obviously incomplete. Mary provides just enough to make it look like a complete history but there are holes. There are several associates that she names to round it out but one name stands out. Ford Vernet. He looks to be an associate of Mary’s during her freelance years, which means that he could also have been an associate of Moriarty and Moran. That leads us to the fact that his last name is Vernet. We both know that is not a common name and it is also a family name, Mummy’s to be exact. Who is he?” 

Mycroft sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa after moving a laptop, which earned him a startled look. “You know the answer, Sherlock, you just don’t want to see it,” he said wearily. 

“What you are suggesting is impossible. I would know if…” Sherlock’s rant trailed off. “Sherrinford? Why? How?” 

“Since we’ve moved beyond making complete sentences, I’ll try to answer to the best of my abilities. Our dear brother, Sherrinford Holmes, is now known as Ford Vernet and has made quite a name for himself in certain circles. I knew that he was associated with James Moriarty for a time before breaking off on his own in America. This knowledge aided in the grave error of not realizing that the woman you know as Mary Morstan was also part of the Moriarty organization. The time that she was freelancing for Moriarty coincided with Vernet’s entanglement and frankly, she just didn’t matter enough to investigate. This oversight almost cost you your life and for that, I apologize.” Mycroft stopped and glanced at Sherlock. The look on his face was one that he had not seen in over two decades and it gave him pause. Sherlock looked very young and very lost. 

“Are you alright?”

John’s voice startled both of them. Sherlock looked up from his hands where he had been very studiously fiddling with his mobile and stared at Mycroft. 

“Does Mummy know?”

Mycroft did something that he tried diligently not to do because it was imperative in his daily work that he not do it. He looked guilty.

Sherlock struggled to his feet, waving off John’s hands as he immediately rushed over to help him. He turned and gave Mycroft a pained look. Sherlock walked down the hallway to his bedroom and said, “Tell him and then leave.” The door clicked quietly closed behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was known throughout the prison as simply “V”. Ford Vernet had cultivated a charming persona overlaid with a ruthlessness that not even the most hardened criminals had witnessed before. Dark curly hair and a bright smile made him look younger than his years, but anyone that had been at Oklahoma State Penitentiary for more than a few days knew that V was not someone that you wanted to cross. He was a legend for his cruel temper and his strict sense of privacy. No one knew the first thing about him beyond his soft, Midwestern voice and no one ever called him by his given name. The last person that tried to show such familiarity had been sent to solitary and had never been seen again.

“Letter for you, V.”

Ford glanced up at the inmate on mail duty and reached out a slender hand. “Thanks,” he said softly. The inmate flinched as if he were afraid that Ford would snatch him right through the bars. Ford pretended not to notice and sat down on the bunk that was bolted to the wall, tucking the envelope into a book sitting on the only flat surface in the small cell. The small table at the head of the bunk held various books and papers, but no writing implements. His last pencil had been taken in a farce of a contraband search that was ordered by the warden. He shook his head in bemusement, as if he would be so obvious. All he had to do was hold out his hand and ten different stabbing instruments would be vying for placement in his palm. 

Ford knew that the warden was terrified of him and what he represented. The man had good reason to be terrified. His predecessor had been an arrogant little weasel that had attempted to wrest control of the prison from Ford. He had paid for that arrogance with his life. Ford never even left his cell or got his hands dirty. His network of criminals, inside and outside, rushed to fulfil his orders and were happy to have months or years added to their sentences or to be arrested anew. It was amazing what people would do for the banal promise of money or the baser reward of simple home comforts. He bought loyalty with cigarettes.

Revenge was also on the table. A cheating wife or a thieving business partner would be summarily dealt with for the price of a favour. The favour would be called in and had to be answered immediately, no questions. This was how Ford, or V, ran his life inside and outside the maximum security prison.

Ford glanced at the book that held the letter. It was a copy of Little Women and for some absurd reason Ford had actually read the book this time instead of merely using it for decoding purposes. It was horrific. Meaningless drivel trying to instill an appreciation of family and companionship. Why his contact had chosen it, he couldn’t even begin to guess. However, it did help to pass the time while he waited for the mail to arrive.

The letter, he knew, was from an associate from another life. Sasha Moran wrote every three months like clockwork with news from the outside world. Just over two years ago, Ford received the news of Moriarty's demise and the chaos that followed. Included in that letter were details regarding the suicide of the detective Sherlock Holmes and his involvement in dear Jim's death. The week that followed was one of the worst in the prison’s history seeing as how it included three separate riots and several deaths. All were orchestrated by Ford Vernet, known as Sherrinford Holmes before the madness. 

Always before, never after. Before, his baby brother Sherlock looked at him with bright eyes and asked him endless questions. Before, Sherlock would ask for his help with his experiments and would listen carefully to what he had to say. But after, after Florida and after Mycroft had made sure that Sherrinford would not be able to contact Sherlock directly again, he became Ford Vernet and did not look back.

Ford grieved for his baby brother. He became Sherrinford for a week and let himself feel. The death and destruction followed.

Ford looked at the book again and finally picked it up. In a matter of minutes, he had decoded the letter and had memorized its contents. Magnussen. Well, wasn’t that interesting. It seemed that Sasha had got into some trouble with him and now was trying to worm free of it. Ford had had dealings with Charles Augustus Magnussen before and was certain that he could do something for Sasha at a price. Always at a price. His help never came for free.

The letter had also contained information about his resurrected baby brother. It seemed that Sherlock had simply been shot while on a case and had almost died. Again. Ford had requested that Sasha keep him updated on the detective after the rumors of his involvement with the downfall of Moriarty’s network had surfaced. Sherlock’s cleverness impressed him in the ruse and Ford was relieved that he was still alive. It would be a pity to lose such a great mind to something as common as sentiment.

But it seemed that the great mind still had a death wish and had got himself put in hospital. Sherlock would recover but he would be out of commission for months. Sasha seemed very certain of Sherlock’s condition and his current living situation. It was uncanny how much information Sasha had on Sherlock. It would seem that Sasha was developing a bit of an obsession. 

That was unfortunate and he would have to nip that one in the bud. Ford had inadvertently drawn Moriarty’s attention to Sherlock at a fairly young age and he regretted that misstep to this day. He had indulged Sherlock when he had tried to convince the police that there was something odd about the Carl Powers death and that got dear Jim’s attention fairly quickly. He wouldn’t let something like that happen again.

Ford ripped the letter methodically into tiny little squares and flushed them down the toilet in the corner of his cell. No one would be able to decode the letter but he never took chances. Now on to his next task. He would call Magnussen and see what he could do about Sasha’s little problem. How difficult Charles was about the matter would determine what Sasha’s payment would be. The guard doing his regular patrol was one of Ford’s payoffs and would be most helpful. 

“Joe,” Ford called softly as the guard walked by his cell. He paused and listened without turning his head. “I need something special.” The guard nodded his head absently. Ford picked up the copy of Little Women and began reading it again.

Later that evening, an inmate on laundry duty brought clean linens to Ford’s cell. His linens were washed every week for contraband passing convenience. Sure enough, the phone was tucked in amongst the folds. Ford quickly slid it under his pillow. He waited until lights out and made the call from memory. 

A hesitant young woman answered before the second ring. “Mr. Magnussen’s office, may I help you?” 

“Hello there,” Ford said in his native accent. “You’re new, aren’t you, love?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve just been here for a week or so. May I help you?”

“I need to speak to Mr. Magnussen right away. Please tell him that Mr. Vernet is on the line." Ford waited for her to answer.

“I’m afraid Mr. Magnussen…”

“Tell him Mr. Vernet is on the line and I promise you that he will take the call. Do it.” Ford dropped his charming tone and his voice turned hard.

“Right away, sir. One moment, please,” she fumbled as he waited patiently for Magnussen to answer.

“Ford, how are you?” Magnussen’s smooth voice made him grimace. 

“As well as can be expected, Charles. How are things?” Ford said in his best friendly voice.

“I suppose you heard about all of the excitement. Tut tut. Shame about that detective fellow, but it will keep him out of commission for a while. Such a meddler, that one.”

Ford froze. What was Magnussen talking about? Ford pressed on, taking a deep breath and affecting his usual calm façade. “I heard that something was in play but I’m lacking in details on this one. What happened?”

“Oh, a naughty, naughty girl thought that she would be able to bully her way in and stop the flow of information. Mr. Holmes got in her way and took a bullet to the chest. Such a bad, bad girl, that one.” Ford could hear the smile in Magnussen’s voice. “Mrs. Watson is what she is going by now, I hear.”

“Ah, that is a shame, Charles. That does change my reason for calling. That naughty girl asked for my help and now I am feeling less than charitable towards her. I suppose this was just a social call after all,” Ford said with a forced laugh.

“It was ever so nice to hear from you, Ford. Please let me know if I can ever be of assistance,” Magnussen stated pleasantly. Ford knew that every scrap of their short conversation was being stored away in that damnable “mind palace” of his. Ford used a similar technique but would never be so flamboyant as to call it a palace. He rang off and lay back on his bunk to think over the information that he had just been given.

The small burner phone was not going to survive his silent rage. He gripped it so tightly that the plastic cracked and the small screen shattered. He slammed it against the concrete floor over and over until it was reduced to useless bits of plastic. He looked at the small swath of destruction he had wrought and shrugged. He would deal with the evidence later. Ford was still thinking about Sasha’s omission and the fact that she had unknowingly almost killed his baby brother. This was not acceptable and would not be allowed to stand. Ford calmed his mind and began picking through the facts. He would need resources and he knew just who to call. Too bad he would have to get a new phone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mycroft have a chat.

Chapter 3

“Do you want to explain to me what the hell just happened?”

John faced Mycroft with a clenched jaw and an apprehensive look. He glanced down the hall at Sherlock’s closed door and worked to keep his voice down. “Mycroft?” He turned back to look at Mycroft and saw a sight that made his stomach drop. Mycroft was still seated on the sofa, elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. His hair was slightly mussed where he had just run his hands through it and John had never seen him look more…human. And scared. That was what bothered John the most. Mycroft never looked scared.

John was torn between wanting to shake the words out of Mycroft and going to check on Sherlock. The quiet closing of the door was so out of character for the stroppy bastard that it made him very, very nervous. He would take violent door slamming any day over the silence emanating from that room.

Mycroft finally raised his head and looked at John with an unreadable expression. “I hear that you and Sherlock have been doing a bit of research lately.” 

John blinked at him. “Of course we’re looking at it. Besides, did you honestly believe that drive could be anywhere near Sherlock without him looking at it? It’s keeping him in one spot long enough to heal, at any rate. What are you getting at?”

“Apologies,” Mycroft waved his hand. “I should have expected nothing less than a thorough investigation. I understand that the drive contains files of a personal nature?” 

John gritted his teeth. “You know it does. We’ve been having the time of our lives reading over the sordid details of my lying wife’s past. If she even is my wife. I mean, it’s not even her real name on the paperwork, is it?” John looked down and clenched his left hand into a fist before shaking out the fingers to relieve the tension. “I’ll ask you again, Mycroft. What are you getting at?”

“Did you know that Sherlock didn’t speak until he was four?” Mycroft looked at John intently. “He watched everyone around him and then he just decided to start speaking in complete sentences with a vocabulary very advanced for his age. Mummy had him tested and the doctors couldn’t tell her anything other than he was waiting to get it right before he tried it. Sherrinford told Mummy this before the doctors did.” 

John looked confused. “What does this have to with anything? And who is Sherrinford?”

Mycroft took a deep breath and looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Sherrinford Holmes was, or I should say is, our brother. Our middle brother to be exact.” 

John’s eyes widened as he took in this news. “Christ. There’s three of you?” 

Mycroft smirked, just a slight raising of the corner of his lips, “Yes, John. May I continue?” John nodded. “Sherrinford is almost five years older than Sherlock and until Sherlock’s late teens, was the only person that he would speak to without calling them a complete idiot. They were very close.” Mycroft cleared his throat and shifted slightly on the sofa.

"Sherrinford left the UK when Sherlock was nineteen, to say that he took it rather badly is an understatement. He had some acquaintances that were unsavory and it seems that he introduced Sherlock to cocaine before he made his way out of the country. Sherlock reacted to this abandonment by lashing out at anyone close to him. He left our parents home after some ugly arguments and became essentially homeless. He had dropped out of university by then and was living very rough. This existence lasted until he was about twenty-five and he finally hit a wall. I got the call from my people that were watching him that he had OD’d and luckily a Sergeant Lestrade found him during a drugs bust on the group of flats where he was residing. He was taken to hospital and the rest, as you say, is history. Lestrade saw the potential in him while he was almost comatose, but still able to tell the nurse that the head nurse was falsifying time cards by the way that she held her pen.” 

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. “Lestrade told Sherlock that if he cleaned himself up and stayed clean, that he would find him something to do. So when I showed up, Sherlock requested to go to rehab and never looked back. Until recent events, that is.” With that statement it was John who looked away guiltily. 

“So that gets me up to date on the book of Sherlock but what happened with Sherrinford? And why has Sherlock never mentioned him?” John persisted, desperate to get back on topic.

“Ford Vernet. You remember that name from the AGRA files?” Mycroft asked. He nodded. “Ford Vernet is Sherrinford Holmes. Vernet is our mother’s maiden name.”

John looked stunned. “You’re telling me that Ford Vernet, this guy that worked with Mar-, um her, is your brother?”

“That is exactly what I’m saying, John. Our brother who is now currently residing in a prison in the US and has been for the last five years.” Mycroft stood at this and paced over to the fireplace where he ran his hand over the skull that sat there. “Ford is a master criminal and has been involved in everything from drugs to gun running. When he went to the US, he was involved in a drug cartel in Florida for several years and had moved on before Sherlock arrived to lend his assistance to your Mrs. Hudson."

“Sherlock never mentions Sherrinford, because in Sherlock’s mind, he doesn’t exist. He deleted him, which is an absurd concept but it helped him cope with the loss. After Sherrinford left, Sherlock shut down all of his emotions. Caring was not an advantage to him, so he left it behind. Until the last three or so years, my brother had never trusted another person enough to tolerate them for long. He assumed that there was no reason to become involved.” Mycroft sneered the word. “All Sherlock knows is that Sherrinford left and moved to the US. He was aware of the involvement with drugs but he was young and trusted his older brother. I tried to talk to Sherrinford and had to provide some of the same services that Sherlock has taken advantage of over the years to keep his record clean. But he was worse than Sherlock ever thought to be." 

"Sherrinford is a true sociopath with a soft spot for his youngest brother. If he can use you, he will. If he sees that you are in his way, he will remove you. It was no big surprise when his work with the cartel drew Moriarty’s interest. At that point, I had given up and was trying to do what I could to protect Sherlock from himself but as you well know that tends to be an impossible feat.”

John silently tried process what he had just learned. It explained so much about Sherlock’s innate distrust of people and his prickly nature. He had suspected as much about the drugs but the verification was heartbreaking. “What happened next, Mycroft? That’s not the end is it?” Mycroft’s eyes took on a haunted look.

“No. That’s not the end.” Mycroft glanced toward Sherlock’s door and seemed to be bracing himself for what came next. “When Sherrinford started working for Moriarty and took on the persona of Ford Vernet, I was instrumental in helping the CIA make a case against him and the direct cause of his incarceration. He is in a maximum security prison but I fear that he still has ties to the old network and makes use of it. Our parents did try to visit him recently, in the hopes that he might have changed inside the system but that was a severe disappointment to them. He did ask about Sherlock but our parents did not give him any real information. I have read the reports of what Sherrinford did when he thought that Sherlock had killed himself and they were….disturbing. He was the cause of three different prison riots within a week of Sherlock’s supposed ‘death’ which resulted in several casualties. The previous warden also met with a suspicious end that was never tied to Sherrinford but I have reasons to believe that he orchestrated this also."

“Sherlock knows nothing of any of this. The last thing that he was told about Sherrinford is that he moved to the US and was never coming back. He is not aware of the prison sentence or my involvement in any of it. Until the recent events with AGRA, he was unaware of Sherrinford’s involvement with Moriarty.” He stopped for a moment, seeming to carefully consider what he was going to say next. “John. This information must not be shared with anyone but Sherlock. I am asking you to please use caution when he finally has questions. This will not be easy for him and I fear the worst.”

“Why me?” John asked. “Why me, Mycroft? You’ve made the bloody mess and now I have to help pick up the pieces? After all we’ve been through? After all he’s done and all that has happened, he has to deal with this, too?” John shook his head. “I don’t know that I can get him through this.” 

Mycroft just looked at him. “You have no choice. You will be all he has until he can find some forgiveness for this betrayal. Because that is how he will see it. And he won’t come to me.” He stood and straightened his jacket. “I’ll show myself out. Please do not hesitate to contact me.” 

“Wait. One more question.” John looked at Mycroft inquiringly. “How on earth did you lot hide all of this from the world’s most observant man?” 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “It was simple really. We can all be blind to something that we don't want to see. Even him.” With that, he was gone.

John just watched him go. He turned to enter the kitchen. Tea seemed like a silly thing right now, but he needed something routine to do with his hands. When the kettle switched off he automatically prepared two mugs even though he knew that Sherlock would not touch his. 

John leaned against the kitchen table, hands flat on the surface and bowed his head under the strain of all of the knowledge that he now possessed. He felt like he was bracing himself against a storm and did not want to make that short walk to Sherlock’s room. John lifted his head, tea forgotten, and walked down the hall.

He didn’t see a light on under Sherlock’s door but that meant nothing. He rapped lightly on the closed door and receiving no answer, turned the knob and opened the door anyway. “Sherlock?” he said quietly as open door revealed the darkened room. 

Sherlock was standing near the window that he had flung open and John could smell the remnants of cigarette smoke. He could tell that Sherlock was shivering and he quickly crossed to close the window. “Bloody hell, you’re freezing!” He reached to grasp Sherlock by the elbow. Sherlock automatically turned toward him. John pressed his lips together tightly as he took in Sherlock’s red rimmed eyes and pale face.

“Come here, you idiot,” John guided Sherlock gently over toward the bed and pressed lightly on his shoulder to get him to sit down. Sherlock did so, without a word, which disturbed John more than the shivering. He kept his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and looked into his face with concern. “Hey, you ok?” he asked, not knowing what else to do. 

Sherlock looked at him and suddenly leaned forward to bury his face in John’s chest. John jumped at the movement then automatically wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to make of this. They had never even properly hugged besides that very odd squeeze on his part at the wedding. Sherlock was visibly trembling and he didn’t think it was entirely from the cold. John rubbed his hands briskly up and down his back trying to impart some warmth when he felt Sherlock’s hands grip his jumper tightly like he was trying to keep John from running away. “I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock. I promise, I’m not going anywhere,” John murmured. He leaned his head down to rest his cheek against the top of Sherlock’s head. They stayed like that until Sherlock finally released his grip on John’s jumper and leaned back, looking a bit embarrassed. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly and started to move further away from John. 

John placed his hand back on Sherlock’s shoulder to keep him in place. “None of that now,” he said sternly. “If this is what you need, there is no shame in that.” Sherlock looked at him and nodded, but didn’t make a move to re-establish their contact.

“Tea, John?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

John went back out to the kitchen and snagged the mugs that had grown cold on the table to dump them out in the sink. He grabbed the kettle to refill it and when he turned around he almost dropped it because Sherlock had followed him silently and just seemed to appear in the dim light like a wraith.

"Did you need something else?” John asked, peering up at him. Sherlock shook his head and wandered into the sitting room and carefully sat down on the sofa. John stayed in the kitchen and finished the tea to give himself some space before going to face Sherlock. He placed Sherlock’s mug on the coffee table and sat down on the other end of the sofa turning slightly to face him. 

“So, you have questions.”

Sherlock picked up his mug and held it, seeming to warm his hands with it. He took a sip and studied the tea as if it held answers. He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off his mug. John studied him carefully. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing and from Sherlock’s earlier reaction, neither did he. So John chose to wait patiently and see what happened. He sipped his tea and tried very hard not to stare or seem like he was pressuring Sherlock to talk even though he had the very sudden urge to beg him not to ask anything and to just forget the whole thing. 

“Mycroft told you about him?” Sherlock asked quietly, still studying his tea. 

John nodded, realized that Sherlock wasn’t even looking at him and answered, “Yes. Yes he did.” 

“And you’re wondering why I’ve never mentioned him.” Sherlock said, a little flatly. 

“I am,” John said honestly, “But you don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to, Sherlock, and I will answer anything you ask. But you have to ask. I don’t want to accidentally stumble upon something that will hur-, I mean will make you uncomfortable.” 

“That’s fair,” Sherlock said, nodding slightly, “I apologize that this has occurred in the midst of what is already a very stressful situation for you. You don’t have to—“ 

John cut him off by raising a hand. “You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. This mess is not your fault. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Mar--, her, so don’t you dare apologize for anything.”

Sherlock looked up then and his face was a strange mix of surprise and a little bit of gratitude at John’s fierce words. I know we wouldn’t be here, he thought, you would still be in that flat, living your ordinary life and happy. Not here handholding and dealing with all of these damnable emotions. Sherlock grimaced at that last thought and took a sip of tea to cover for it. It was wrong for him to be pleased with John’s attention at a time like this. Even before Mycroft waddled in and dropped a bomb on them, Sherlock had been soaking up the attention while John had been hurting and wrestling with his own demons. Now he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to stay as aloof as he should. The weakness he showed earlier was intolerable and he felt guilty for wanting it to happen again. The warmth of John’s arms around him had been the best thing that he had felt in years and it made him long for more.

And that was enough of that train of thought. Sherlock considered carefully what he wanted to ask John and began with “Where is he now?” 

John cautiously answered, “In prison in the US. He’s been there for about five years.” 

Sherlock nodded. “I’m not surprised actually. Sherrinford always did have a flair for crime. Pity that. How did he get caught?” 

John looked away for this one, “Mycroft.” 

Sherlock pressed his lips together into a hard line, “Ah. How much do our parents know?” 

“Everything. Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” John hated this. Hated telling him that his family had kept this secret from him, but a very tiny part of him revelled in the fact that Sherlock now knew what it felt like to be lied to on this magnitude. With that thought, John frowned. He shouldn’t feel that way anymore, not when he had the immediate problem of Mary’s deception and Sherlock’s recovery to oversee. It just made him feel worse about everything.

Sherlock placed his mug on the table and started to rise. John immediately jumped up to help him by steadying his elbow. Sherlock barely resisted leaning into the touch and tried to stand on his own. This failed spectacularly when he swayed and sat back down heavily, hissing in pain. “Sherlock, you have to accept that you need help right now,” John said, feeling like he had said the same thing every day since Sherlock had come home from hospital. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Sherlock said, panting just a bit and trying to hold himself perfectly still so as not to jar the wound any further. 

“You’re not fine! It’s past time for your pill.” John started to move toward the bathroom to fetch it when Sherlock placed a hand on his arm. 

“Just half.” Sherlock worked on controlling his breathing. “Please.”

“Ok. Ok, just half.” John understood that Sherlock was trying desperately to wean himself off of the pain medication, but he still needed it to heal as quickly as possible. He brought back the half pill and a small glass of water and handed them over. Sherlock took it and swallowed it with a grimace. “Tired?” John asked him, running a quick glance over him to take in the still pale face and hollow eyes. 

“Yes, but not ready to move just yet. I think I’ll stay here for just a bit. Join me? We can watch that dreadful Top Gear if you like, I’m sure it’s on somewhere. It always is.” Sherlock leaned back a bit against the back of the sofa, still trying to keep his torso steady.

John nodded and picked up the remote. He sat down next to Sherlock on the sofa and flicked on the telly. Sure enough, Top Gear was on. John smiled at that and looked at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock was still leaning back slightly with his eyes closed now. I guess we’re done for tonight. John turned his attention back to the show.

After twenty minutes or so, John felt pressure on his shoulder and glanced down to see dark curls. He looked a little closer and saw the gleam of Sherlock’s half open eyes. “Is this ok?” Sherlock murmured, tensing as though ready to move away. 

John reached up and tugged him forward and down so that Sherlock’s head was resting on his thigh. He threaded a hand through Sherlock’s hair and said, “It’s fine. Whatever you need.” Sherlock stiffened slightly and then relaxed into the touch. He gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

“Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford is really not a very nice person. I'm sure you've figured that out.

Chapter 4

Ford had taken some time to think about the best way to punish Sasha for the unforgivable act of shooting his younger brother. Most people were idiots but Sherlock had been different with his unquestioning faith in his older brother and his curious nature. Ford wished to this very day that he had taken him with him when he decided to branch off from the cartel. Sherlock would have thrived on the planning and calculations it took to pull off some of the elaborate schemes that Ford had accomplished. They could have ruled the world. Or they would have watched it all burn.

Ford had come to the conclusion that he would be best served by punishing Sasha Moran himself. He was a fan of the personal touch. By the first year of his incarceration, he had already put a back up plan in place for escape and he had not had reason to put it into play until now. The prison was very much his own private kingdom and he enjoyed not having to train or coerce new people over and over. New people were so dull and the unpredictability grated on his nerves. After the unfortunate incident with his previous phone and its ultimate demise through the prison sewer system, Ford had put in another request a week or so later when Joe was on his night shift rotation. 

As per usual, Joe had delivered promptly and it was now hidden in Ford’s cell. He knew the plan would take a least a few months to come together if he gave the command now, but he didn’t think anything untoward would happen before he was able to take care of his little problem. He waited until lights out again and made a call to a different number, one that wasn’t international this time. 

“Hello?” A woman’s voice answered after the fifth ring. It was rather late where he was calling, but he didn’t think she would be sleeping. 

“Irene, dear, how are you?” Ford said, in his original accent. There was no need for shamming when speaking to her. She was, after all, an old friend. 

“Ford, darling, it’s so nice to hear from you!” Irene said, her New Jersey tone telling him that she was with a client at the moment. 

“Busy?” Ford smirked, knowing that she could always find time during her sessions to take a call from him. 

“Never too busy for you, Ford.” Ford could hear the smile in her voice. “This one will keep for a few minutes. He likes it when I ignore him, don’t you?” Ford heard a muffled groan in the background and grinned. The ambient noise faded as she stepped out of the room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Irene asked. “I’m guessing that this is not simply a need for a friendly chat.” Ford smiled. Irene always knew when to get right to business. He admired that about her. That and her prowess with a whip. He had enjoyed being on the receiving end of her ministrations. They had an agreement and she knew what he liked.

“I need your advice. Orange is not really my color and I thought you might have an idea on what I should go with next.” Ford heard her inhale sharply. 

“I can help you with that, you know that I love to dress you. I think a nice navy would suit you.” Irene kept her voice steady as she gave him the code that she could begin the process to get him out of prison. Ford knew that Irene would not let him down. And if she did, she knew the consequences. “I hear Sherlock Holmes made quite the scene a few weeks ago. It was all over the news, well the news that counts.” Irene couldn’t help herself. She knew about the familial connection and previously had hoped to get her hands on the youngest Holmes so that she could have a matched set. After meeting Sherlock, she gave up on that dream rather quickly. She rather liked him; he was certainly sweeter than his brother Ford. 

“I heard the same. What is your take on the matter, my darling?” Ford genuinely wanted Irene’s opinion. She was one of the few people that he respected enough to ask it of. 

“I think that someone got jealous and tried to eliminate her competition. I saw how things were and I guarantee that those two silly boys still have not admitted anything. One is in complete denial and the other won’t make a move. He thinks he’s still earning the other one’s forgiveness and is terrified of making a mistake.” Ford was beginning to regret asking Irene’s opinion on the Moran matter. This was making things more and more complicated. He had no idea that Sherlock had sunk so low as to have feelings for another human being much less someone that he couldn’t have. It was humiliating. 

He thought that Sherlock would have got over his need to make a connection with another person after the disastrous few years that followed his flight from their parents home. He had kept tabs on Sherlock and knew that he had made a series of very stupid decisions. Sleeping with your dealer was not the most efficient way of procuring drugs. Ford almost scooped him up off the street at that point but he knew that Mycroft was also watching and couldn’t take the chance. He had decided to take action but it was already too late. Sherlock was in rehab and had started working with the police using the very deductive skills that Ford had instilled in him. What a disappointment.

His attention turned back to the call with Irene. “Thank you so much for your thoughts on the matter, Irene. They are not appreciated in the least.” 

Irene laughed. “I will start working on your new wardrobe right away, darling. Navy it is.” Navy was the code word for January, so only a month or so to wait. 

“Thank you, dear. I hope to speak with you again soon.” Ford rang off at that point. He flipped the small phone in the air and caught it with a deft hand. He would hold on to this one for a while.

 

Irene leaned against the wall next to the door of her studio. She knew that this day would come eventually but she didn’t think it would be this soon. Faking your death came at a high price. Ford had helped her escape right out from under Sherlock’s nose when he had come to her rescue in Karachi. She was grateful for his help, really she was, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t resent being given this particular task. Helping a high profile criminal escape from a maximum security prison was not her idea of fun. It was too hands-on and would require her immediate presence. 

She had established herself over the last few years as a savvy businesswoman and had made a name for herself in the private discipline scene. It wasn’t her name, but neither was Irene Adler. She saw clients in her lush studio or they would fly her all over the world for her attentions. She hoped that all she had built wasn’t about to come crashing down around her ears. She took a deep breath to steady herself and schooled her face back to its normal calmness. She opened the door and looked at the bound and kneeling man and said, “Where were we?”

 

Ford contacted Irene again a week later to check her progress. 

“Ford, it does take time you know. All of these decisions that have to be sorted. I know you are impatient, my dear, but keep faith that I will take care of you.” 

Ford snorted. “I know that. You know I am a stickler for details and just wish for everything to go smoothly.” 

Irene rolled her eyes at this. “We both know that is just not true. The less smoothly things go, the more fun you have. You, love, are a trouble magnet.” 

“You love it.” Ford said with a smile. “It keeps things interesting.” 

“That it does, but in this case I’m hoping for a nice boring time of it.” Irene wouldn’t let him hear the worry that had plagued her since his initial phone call. “Where are you planning on wearing your new suit?” 

Ford frowned at this. “I don’t think that is any of your business. I’ll go where I like and do what I like.” 

“Just like old times,” Irene sighed, knowing that as soon as Ford got out he would be making a straight line for Mary Watson aka Sasha Moran. “There may be one more piece of the puzzle that you might like to know before you make any rash decisions, Ford.” 

“And what could that possibly be?” Ford sneered, already tired of this call. 

“I know this makes no difference to your sensibilities, but there is a child involved in all of this. You may not care, but Sherlock does.” Irene was torn between removing herself completely from the aftermath of Ford’s escape and doing what she could to ease her own conscience. She did have one after all. 

“A child? Oh you mean dear Sasha has gone and gotten herself up the duff? Isn’t that rich,” Ford chuckled in a disturbing manner, “Sherlock doesn’t care anything about children. What does that even matter?” 

“Sherlock may surprise you. Even if he has never considered children, he would make an exception for this one because it is John’s.” Irene knew that she was pushing it, but she just couldn’t help herself. She’d always been a sucker for the underdog.

Ford mulled this information over. Sherlock with a child? He remembered his impetuous younger brother, so quick to do dangerous experiments with deadly chemicals or even on his own body. Who in their right mind would allow him near their child? Ford shrugged at the thought. He really didn’t care one way or another. Sherlock had wasted his life as far as he was concerned, why should he worry about this?

“Irene, don’t overstep.” Ford warned. His respect for Ms. Adler was immense but it was not endless. Irene recognized the hard tone and sighed. He wouldn’t listen to her, she wasn’t sure why she even tried. 

“Everything is on schedule. The navy suit will be ready on time.” Irene hoped that Ford would be reassured and would have the patience to wait. She knew that if he pushed, things would get messy very quickly. 

“Thank you, my dear.” Ford said warmly, without a trace of his previous coldness. “We will talk again soon.” He ended the call and put the mobile back into its hiding place. He needed to process what Irene had just told him.

Ford thought back to his last year or so at home. He and Sherlock had been inseparable. By the time Sherlock was eighteen, Ford was already taking him to clubs while he was starting to build up his contacts. He knew that Mycroft wouldn’t keep quiet about his activities for much longer. It was only a matter of time before he was cut off from the Holmes reservoir of cash and he needed a contingency plan in place. He knew his looks and charm could get him far, but Sherlock still had a certain amount of innocence that was very attractive to the right sort of people. Ford and Sherlock shared the same slim build and dark curls, but Ford had a hardness to his eyes that people noticed and that made them wary. He could keep up the façade for a time and made an effort while Sherlock was there with him.

Sherlock loved to dance and certain associates of Ford loved to watch. Ford used their attraction against them by encouraging Sherlock to come out of his shell and talk to them. This opened them up to speaking with Ford and led to more than one business transaction. After he introduced Sherlock to cocaine, those sorts of transactions multiplied in direct response to the lowering of Sherlock’s inhibitions. Ford loved his brother, but he also appreciated his usefulness.

It was during one of these club nights that Ford met a man that was part of a drug running cartel based out of Florida. The boss, Ford was told, grew up on the outskirts of London and had moved to the US with his wife and started working with an established cartel. He had taken over after the demise of the previous boss and was always on the lookout for new talent. As it happened, the man sent to London to scout for the cartel had taken a shine to Sherlock. Ford saw this in an instant and knew that this was his chance to finally get out from under the Holmes name. 

“He likes you.”

Sherlock’s eyes had the glassy sheen of a recent high as he leaned closer to Ford to hear him over the noise of the club. “What?”

“He likes you.” Ford nodded again at the man leaning against the wall who was staring openly at his brother. “I’m certain he would like to get to know you better.”

Sherlock knew what he meant by that. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I do. I know that you just had your last hit and you’ll be coming down in about 30 minutes. I’ve got another one here waiting for you if you go over there and make him happy.” Ford leaned in again. “Do it now and it won’t be as bad. He won’t even care about getting you off.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip, undecided. Finally he nodded. The pull of another high outweighed his trepidation about sucking off Ford’s friend, associate or whatever he was.

Ford grinned. “Good man!” He slipped a condom into Sherlock’s pocket and thumped him on the back.

He received back a very upset brother and a very pleased business associate. Sherlock was unwilling to go out to the clubs after that. It didn’t matter. Ford had made the contact he needed and started preparations to leave the country.

This brought him back to the last thing that Irene had said to him. Sherlock and a child? Had his brother sunk so low as to actually care enough about someone to give up his life and brilliance for a family? Ford needed to get out of this godforsaken place and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably add that my version of Sherrinford is heavily influenced by the lovely Tom Hiddleston in those Jaguar commercials.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The days after the revelation about Sherrinford Holmes passed like the days before. Sherlock immersed himself in the files contained on the AGRA drive. John helped where he could and provided tea when he couldn’t. Mary’s association with Moriarty was now solidified but Sherlock was having trouble pinpointing her exact involvement. Her skills as an assassin were evident but he desperately needed to know how far back her history went with him. He was quickly reaching the point where he would have normally turned to Mycroft for his resources, but Sherlock had not quite been able to make himself contact his brother. He briefly considered having John handle it but that would not be the most considerate thing to do.

This gave him pause. Normally he would not hesitate to send John off on an errand or have him send a message, but with the burdens that he knew John was already carrying and the tentative closeness that had started to build since that wretched evening…no. Sherlock would not ask John to do his dirty work for him because he was furious with his brother. Furious with his entire family, if he was being honest with himself. 

He had not spoken to his parents since that day. They had called and he heard John speaking quietly to them in the other room but he refused to take their calls. He knew from the look on John’s face after the conversations that Mycroft had told them what had happened and they were desperate to make amends. John did not ask him to speak to them and for that, Sherlock was eternally grateful. He would just add it to the list of things for which he was grateful to John Watson.

John had steadfastly looked after him and had not mentioned Sherrinford once. He dutifully changed Sherlock’s dressing and doled out his fewer and fewer pills. He also insisted that Sherlock eat regularly and made sure that he was getting enough rest. Comfort had been added to the list after Sherlock had initiated his desperate bid for contact and he was surprised to learn that he craved it now. This was an unfortunate realization, coming close on the heels of the emotions that he had been forced to face when he suffered through the planning and execution of John’s wedding. It was enhanced by the turmoil that he now found himself in with Mary’s betrayal and with his own family history rearing its head.

He thought that he had successfully drowned his sorrows in the heroin that he had pursued to get Magnussen’s attention, but he knew that the disappointment in John’s face in the lab would not have been so cutting without the deep affection that he realized he felt for him. It was clear that there were not enough drugs in the world to keep him from such sentiment. The obvious jealousy at his farce of a relationship with Janine had almost made the whole distasteful display worth it. He had called Janine from the lab to have her meet him at 221B and “make it believable.” His shock was almost as great as John’s when she entered the loo in only one of his shirts while he was getting the filth off of his body from the drug den.

He had chuckled nervously at her for show and then whispered ferociously, “What are you doing?” 

She had whispered back, “It seemed like the thing to do! I think poor John is having a stroke out there!” She had giggled and looked him up and down and said, “Besides, when else do I get to see the great Sherlock Holmes in the altogether? That massive brain of yours does come in such a lovely package after all.” He had rolled his eyes at this and silently pointed at the door. She had lifted her hands placatingly and had finally left him so that he could finish getting cleaned up.

Her participation in the ruse had been appreciated and she certainly had got her reward. He hadn’t known that she was going to sell out to the tabloids but he couldn’t fault her for it. She had sent him a get-well basket of honey and sweets from Sussex after all.

From his short association with Janine, he had learned an important fact. It was not just anyone’s touch he craved. It was specifically John Watson’s. John had been generous in his hugs now that he knew that Sherlock would not flinch away and it had become a regular occurrence for the two of them to sit closely together on the sofa at night to watch the mindless programs that John loved. Sherlock had even rested his head in John’s lap a time or two and had fallen asleep, drifting off with a comforting hand carding through his hair. 

Sherlock knew that he was making a mistake. Soaking up John’s affection now would make it that much harder when he left and Sherlock was sure that this would come to pass sooner or later. Regardless of John’s feelings for Mary right now, there was still a child on the way and there was no way that John would shirk those responsibilities. He was just too honorable. Sherlock wanted desperately to offer John and his child a home at Baker Street, an offer that would be part pure selfishness and part desperation. He expected that an offer like that would be met with incredulity and he would not be able to stand the rejection.

He shook himself to break out of his reverie and turned away from the window where he had been pondering these unfamiliar thoughts. He finally looked to where John was seated in his chair. “We’re going to have to contact Mycroft.” Sherlock said suddenly, causing John to start at the sudden breach of silence. 

“What? Why?” John was looking at him cautiously. 

“I can’t do anything further with the information that we have and unfortunately he does have access to the best resources to get the last pieces of the puzzle.” Sherlock looked extremely unhappy at this admission and John gave him a sympathetic look. Sherlock frowned even more at this and turned his back so that he wouldn’t drown in the pity that he knew John was trying hard to repress. 

“Do you want me to do it?” John had risen from his chair and had moved across the room until he stood directly behind Sherlock, “I can do it if—“ Sherlock cut him off with an imperious gesture. 

“No, I’ll do it. Mycroft won’t come here anyway, he’ll just send the information with one of his minions,” Sherlock paused. “Thank you for the offer, John. I do appreciate it.” He was momentarily surprised when arms engulfed him from behind and he felt John’s forehead rest at the base of his neck. 

“No, Sherlock. Thank you. I know this is hard for you and I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment to relish the warm feeling of being held and then gently removed John’s hands from where they rested on his waist. He turned around and encircled John in his own arms. John tensed for a moment in surprise but brought his hands back up to rest on Sherlock’s back. Sherlock usually didn’t reciprocate like this but it just felt right in the moment. He rested his cheek against the top of John’s head and just breathed him in. He was going to miss this so much.

John had never been so confused in his life. He felt like he was caught in a hurricane of emotion. He had gone from being happily married with a child on the way to helping his best friend recover from a bullet wound. Sherlock had almost died. He actually had died per the report from the hospital and had set back his recovery by weeks thanks to his stunt to confront Mary. He always had to do things the most dramatic way possible. 

John was so angry at Mary. He had ignored all of her calls and texts since the night at Baker Street when Sherlock had agreed to take on her case. He knew that Sherlock had some contact with her. They seemed to have an unspoken agreement to take on the other’s unwanted calls. Sherlock talked to Mary and John talked to his parents. They were so very distraught and it made John uncomfortable to tell them over and over that Sherlock wasn’t ready to talk to them just yet. They seemed like such lovely people and it made John sad that he was only getting to know them now through this unfortunate situation. 

However, John refused to talk to Mycroft. He would only do that if Sherlock directly asked him to but Sherlock had chosen to take that burden on himself. After Sherlock had come to the conclusion that he had no choice but to use Mycroft’s contacts, a minion had shown up with a hard drive and Sherlock had immersed himself in it. They had found out some more details including Mary’s aka Sasha Moran’s previous alias. Sherlock recognized it and kept looking at John out of the corner of his eye while they were reviewing the printouts that were now attached to the crime wall. John couldn’t believe it. His own wife had been at the pool when Moriarty had strapped a bomb to him and had looked through a rifle scope at Sherlock. 

John wondered if that was why she had started working at the clinic. Was it her job to keep an eye on him? He had been a mess for over a year after Sherlock had died and Mary had been a breath of fresh air that had probably saved his life. Now he realized that it was all a lie from the beginning. He was just another mission to her. He could feel the anger rising in his chest again. Why? Why couldn’t Sherlock have just told him? If he couldn’t tell him, why the hell did it take him so long to get back? If Sherlock had got back before John had met Mary…he couldn’t think about that now. There were things that he couldn’t even tell his therapist and he just could not deal with that right now.

“You’re angry again.” Sherlock’s voice broke into his thoughts. He should have known better than to think that he could hide even that from Sherlock’s observations. 

“Yeah, I am,” John gritted out. “My whole life for that past two years has been a complete lie!” His voice rose on the last word and Sherlock turned to look at him with a flash of concern before he was able to wipe it away. 

“I don’t think…” Sherlock started when John rounded on him from where he had paced over to look out the window. 

“No! You don’t get to deduce this! Why Sherlock? Why? What did I ever do to deserve this?” John could feel a good rant coming on and he was tired of bottling it up. 

“Did you know? Did you know what she was before I married her?” John saw Sherlock flinch slightly. 

“Of course not!” he insisted. “Don’t you think I would have told you?” They were both practically shouting now. 

“I don’t know anymore, Sherlock! You lied to me for so long, what is one more? And after what you did to poor Janine...” John stopped for a second. “She really cared about you and you hurt her so badly.” 

“Poor Janine? Poor Janine? She was in on it the whole time, John! And I think she was well paid for her trouble.” Sherlock looked furious. John was shocked. He hadn’t figured that part out. After the tabloid headlines, he just assumed that that was the revenge of a woman scorned. 

“I can’t believe it! Just one more thing that I didn’t know!” He flung his hands up in the air, “What else? What else is there that you’ve hidden from me? Hmm? Is there another sibling lurking about?” As soon as the words left his mouth, John wished he could have stuffed them back in. The hurt and shock on Sherlock’s face made him want to crawl in a hole and never come out. Sherlock blinked at him a few times and for one horrifying moment John thought he was going to cry.

“I am so sorry, Sherlock. So very, very sorry.” John said, holding out a hand. Sherlock shrugged away from him and turned his back, obviously trying to compose himself. “I don’t know why I even said that. You’ve been doing so much trying to work out the Mary problem and here I am shouting at you.” John sat down in his chair, still being presented with Sherlock’s back. He rested his head in his hands. “I don’t even know what I’m doing any more. My life was so simple and I thought I knew where I was headed and now I don’t even know where I’m going to live! I can’t go back to my flat with Mary and I can’t stay here forever. I just don’t know.” 

“I shouldn’t have come back.” Sherlock’s voice was so low that John wasn’t even sure that he had heard him correctly. 

“What?” John said, surprised. 

“I shouldn’t have come back. I almost didn’t. In more ways than one.” Sherlock still had his back to John and refused to turn around. “I thought I was going to die in Serbia until Mycroft pulled me out. I would never tell him that, of course, but he probably already knows. He told me from the first that my reception back might not be welcome and I barged in anyway. And here we are. I was selfish and arrogant and thought that I could come back and everything would be just like it was before.” Sherlock sounded bitter. “I knew what was going on before I revealed myself in the restaurant and I did it anyway.” His shoulders slumped a bit and he had his arms wrapped around himself in an effort to hold it together. “You were wrong about one thing, John.” He finally turned around and looked John in the eye. “You will always have a home here at Baker Street. Always.”

John watched in silence as Sherlock retreated to his room yet again. He couldn’t breathe. He deliberately took deep breaths, trying to calm down. Sherlock had almost not come back. That was what kept ringing in his head. Had almost died while on his one man mission to take down Moriarty’s web. John would have never known. Would never have known the enormous sacrifice that brilliant man had made on his behalf along with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He had felt guilty enough after he had finally allowed Sherlock to tell him why he had deceived them all. And now, knowing that Sherlock almost truly gave his life for him, John couldn’t bear it.

Feeling more apprehensive than he had on the day that Mycroft had filled him in on the Holmes family dynamics, John stood and moved down the hall towards Sherlock’s room. He stood for a few moments in front of the door, still reeling from what Sherlock had just revealed. He knew that Sherlock had had a rough time of it during his time away, but he had always been reluctant to go into any detail. Evidently, it was even worse than John had imagined. And Sherlock had faced that all alone. Lestrade had told John about the faux crime scene that he had called Sherlock to while John was still so furious that he had refused to see him. After they had a few pints, he told him how Sherlock had called Molly ‘John’ and he could have sworn that Sherlock was talking to John or at least he hoped that was what he was doing. It just made him seem a bit more mad than he used to be. 

It must have been horribly lonely and though Sherlock had never admitted it, John was fairly certain he had missed him just as much as John had him. At least he had known that John was alive. That made John’s heart clench again. Still angry. Angry that Sherlock had not trusted him enough to help him. Angry that he didn’t at least try to get a message to him and angry that he hadn't returned in time to keep John from making the mistake of getting married to a virtual stranger. He couldn’t entirely blame him for that one, though. John had been determined to not allow Sherlock to ruin this relationship and had been thrilled when he and Mary seemed to get on so well. He had loved Mary, still did a bit, but he wasn’t sure if he would have done if Sherlock hadn’t gone haring off for two years.

John realized that he had just been standing in front of Sherlock’s door and he wondered if Sherlock knew that he was there. He probably did. John reached up a hand and tapped on the door. He waited to see if Sherlock would acknowledge his presence. He couldn’t hear anything behind the door and he could tell that the lamp wasn’t on. 

John squared his shoulders and grasped the knob, hoping that the door wasn’t locked. It turned easily and he opened it expecting to see Sherlock standing at the window, smoking furiously. The sight that greeted him was far more heart wrenching. Sherlock had finally healed to the point of being able to rest on his left side and he was now lying on the bed curled up in an impossibly tight ball for a man of his height. It was most likely still painful for him but John had seen him affect this same position on the sofa and even in his chair a few times. It was a known defensive position and the sight of his bowed spine made John struggle to swallow past a lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. 

“Sherlock, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry again for what I said. I just get so bloody angry. That’s no excuse, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Again, sorry.” There was no response from the ball of Sherlock on the bed. John huffed out a sigh. “Anyway, I just needed to say that. I’m going to go out for a bit. I’ll let Mycroft’s team know.”

“John?” 

He stopped. “Yeah, Sherlock. Need something?” 

“Can you stay here for just a while?” That low hesitant voice sounded so vulnerable and so un-Sherlock like that John felt the lump forming again. 

“Of course I can. Whatever you want.” John sat down gingerly on the bed and leaned carefully against the headboard so as not to jostle Sherlock too much as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “This okay?” he asked, still faced with Sherlock’s bent back. He didn’t receive an answer so he reached over and placed a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. He felt Sherlock take in a deep breath at the contact, then lean into his touch.

He would never voice this opinion out loud but he knew from his own observation that while Sherlock Holmes was an aloof machine to the rest of the world, in private he soaked up affection like a sponge. They had always been in each other’s pockets with a severe lack of personal space before Sherlock’s dive. Now that he was back home and especially after having been reliant on John’s help in his recovery, Sherlock had almost eagerly accepted affectionate touches from John. He would never instigate but he was happy to receive a hug or to have John be his pillow on the sofa while they watched horrible telly. He would lay there, head in John’s lap, and snark at the tv until his weakened state caught up to him and he fell asleep. John treasured those moments more than he realized. 

That was what made this decision easy. Without another thought, John slid down and scooted over so that his chest was pressed up against Sherlock’s back. He draped his hand over Sherlock’s hip so he wouldn’t put any pressure on the injured side. Sherlock tensed up immediately. 

“John? What are you doing?” Sherlock stammered. 

“I have no idea, but I think we both need it,” John said, hoping that he hadn’t just made a huge mistake. He waited to see if Sherlock would pull away from him and leave the room. He was relieved when Sherlock leaned back into him and put his hand over John’s where it rested on his hip. To his surprise, Sherlock entwined his long fingers with John’s shorter ones and then pulled both hands up to his chest over his heart. 

“Does this hurt?” John asked him, worried about Sherlock’s still healing bullet wound.

“Yes. We need to talk about Mary.”


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Waiting. Ford hated waiting. Waiting was boring. He glanced over at where the illicit mobile resided and barely restrained himself from calling Irene and insisting that she move her ass and get him the fuck out of here right now. He took a calming breath and resumed his contemplation of the ceiling. Lying on his bunk with his hands laced behind his head, Ford oozed serenity that belied the rage that lay just beneath the surface. 

The fury stemmed from an unexpectedly early letter from Sasha Moran. Apparently, she was getting more and more desperate for Ford’s assistance with Magnussen. The only redeeming thing that came from the letter was confirmation that Sasha was still clueless about his relationship to Sherlock Holmes. She really didn't like him. Ford supposed that shooting your husband’s best friend, or whatever he was, didn’t do wonders for a marriage. But then he wasn't the marrying type so what did he know? 

He knew, as soon as the letter arrived, that things were getting more and more perilous for Sasha. Irene’s unspoken plea for the child she carried just made things more interesting. He wondered how far Sasha would go to protect the child and the man she married. Would it be worth finding out to spare his brother from a mundane life of domesticity? Perhaps all of the Watsons should pay the price for Sasha’s arrogance. Wouldn't that be a turn up? Destroying her precious John in front of her just before Ford put a bullet in her brain. That thought made him smile for the first time in days. 

It was just a few weeks until Christmas and he knew that he would have to place his semi-annual parental phone call any day now. He wasn’t sure why he even bothered. Every time he spoke to his mother she was reduced to useless tears and mundane pleas for him to change his ways. The only reason he even spoke to them was so that he could see how much news he could tease out of them regarding Sherlock or Mycroft. Unfortunately, they had got very adept at sidestepping his attempts.

“Sherri, we do wish that you would write to us. It would be lovely to hear from you more often,” his mother was saying for the millionth time. Ford rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, Mother. I’m sure you would enjoy that immensely. ‘Dear mother and father, today is the same as yesterday and tomorrow will be the same as today. Wish you were here.’”

Mummy sighed. She hated it when he called her Mother and he hated it when she called him Sherri, so they were even. He pondered his next statement carefully, “Do you have plans for the holiday?” She seemed delighted that he had inquired about their plans. Typical. 

“Oh, yes. We’ll be having some extra guests this year. Sherl’s friends, John and Mary will be coming with him.” Interesting. So Sherlock was going to submit himself to Mummy’s fawning willingly. And John and Mary were going to be there. If Sherlock was going to be there, that meant Mycroft as well. What were they planning? 

He tuned out the inane things that his mother was twittering on about, regarding dinner or punch or something idiotic. His mother then said something that caught his attention again. “Apologies, Mother. What was that?” 

“I said that Mary must be just about ready to have the baby. I do wish that you could meet John and Mary. They are so lovely, Sherri. Sherl seems so much happier with close friends.”

Ford realized at that moment that his parents had absolutely no idea what had happened to Sherlock in regards to Mary. He’d assumed that Mycroft would have filled them in, but he was mistaken. “I’m sure they are Mother. My time is almost up, I have to go.” 

“We love you, Sherri. Always will. No matter what.” Oh God, here come the tears, Ford thought.

“Yes, Mother. I’ll speak to you again in a few months.” He hung up before she could get a good cry going. Tears made him extremely uncomfortable. They seemed like such a waste of energy.

Ford wasn’t exactly sure why his mother continued her campaign to keep in touch with him. He knew that Mycroft had told them everything when he had been arrested and then gone to trial. It was his version of running home to Mummy and Daddy to tell on him. And his charges were so minor compared to some of the other schemes that he had got up to. Credit card fraud, really? That was the best Mycroft could do? He had managed to arrange for Ford to be in a maximum security prison and made sure that his American identity would hold up to scrutiny. This was just buying time. Mycroft was out there; ready to take him down again as soon as he got out. Wouldn’t he be surprised at Ford’s ‘early release’?

That evening, Ford decided to give Irene a call. The fact that both of his brothers were coming home for Christmas surely meant that they were planning something and if Sasha was going to be there, well then that something had to do with Magnussen. If anyone could find out, it would be Irene. He didn’t want to call Charles and tip him off just yet without all of the cards in his hand. He knew that Sherlock would have pried the reason for Sasha’s deception out of her and he was also depending on Sasha not to trust him. She would not have written to him for help otherwise.

Irene answered immediately. “Ford, dear, how nice to hear from you.” He smiled at the sound of her voice. 

“Irene, I’m afraid I need to be brief. Have you heard any rumblings regarding CAM?” She hesitated for a moment. 

“Not a word. Should I have?” Well, that was disappointing. 

“I believe there are certain members of the family that will be making a house call. Please be a dear and see if you can suss out what they’re up to.” Ford would have to wait days for the answer. That was unfortunate.

“Of course. I’ll see what I can do.” Irene sounded sure of herself. Ford had every confidence that she would not fail him. 

“Thank you dear. We’ll chat longer soon.” Ford hung up without allowing her to respond. He would ask her about the January deadline next time.

He needed to do something. He was getting restless with all of this dreary waiting. Nothing exciting had happened for weeks. He grinned as he thought about the last gang war that he had provoked by having his people feed lies into certain ears. It was glorious.

Ford had to wait a week before calling again. He had stirred things up a little too well and the guards were on higher alert than usual. He owned most of the guards in his area, but they had doubled up and there were some new faces mixed in now. Fortunately, Irene took his call right away.

“What did you find out?” he asked without preamble. He needed to know. 

“Slow down, love. I’ll tell you everything.” Irene soothed. Her calm infuriated him. 

“Well?” Ford demanded. 

“I have not heard a peep from CAM. It’s astonishingly quiet from that front, which means that he’s up to something.” She knew that her lack of something concrete would infuriate Ford and hurried to give him something good to think about. “In other news, your suit is almost ready.”

Ford had a drawn in a breath to berate her for her incompetence but he let it out slowly. “Is that right?” He had planned on pinning her down on a definite time frame but it seemed like everything was moving right along. 

Irene let out a small sigh of relief. No tantrum this time, then. “It is. It should be ready the first week of January.”

“That is soon.” Ford was pleased at this news. He was expecting it to take at least another two weeks past that date for her to get everything in motion. He forgave her earlier transgression and moved on. If that was the time frame, he should be able to figure out what his dear brothers were up to himself. 

“I knew that you’d appreciate it. Please ring me at Christmas, dear. I would love to hear from you again.” Irene knew that if anything untoward were to take place, it would probably be at Christmas. Bloody drama queens, the lot of them. 

“I will. Goodbye, love,” Ford clicked off and placed the mobile back in its hiding spot. Soon. He would see them all soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_“Yes. We need to talk about Mary.”_

John jerked his head up from the pillow and looked at Sherlock closely. “What? Now?” 

Sherlock gently moved John’s hand away from where he held it to his chest and carefully sat up. “Yes. Now.” He got up and held out a hand to let him know that he was not rejecting the offer of comfort. They had hurt one another enough for one day. John took his hand and sat up. He slid off the bed and faced Sherlock. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, looking up at Sherlock’s face, studying it for the pain that he had recently caused.

“Do you want to stay with Mary?”

This was a hard question to ask. Sherlock was fairly confident that he knew what the answer would be, but there was always a slim chance that he had missed something. Relationships were definitely not his area. He watched John turn this question over in his head so abominably slowly. Sherlock kept his face carefully blank to prepare for any answer.

“No.”

John said this with a confidence that made Sherlock hold back a sigh in utter relief. He didn’t want John to be conflicted about that point. It was paramount that he be absolutely sure for his plan to work.

“The answer is obvious, but I need to be sure. Do you wish to raise your child with or without her?” This was the bigger question and the most tricky part. 

“Of course. Where are you going with this, Sherlock?” John followed him as they went back to the sitting room. He perched on the arm of the sofa while Sherlock paced.

“We both know if you begin divorce proceedings now, Mary will run. She will disappear and you will never see her or your child again. We need to do what we can to prevent that and to ensure everyone’s safety.” Sherlock stopped pacing and faced John, lacing his fingers behind his back. This was the more difficult part.

“That makes sense. With her skills, even Mycroft would be well pressed to find her.”

“It will be difficult to avoid. Which is why I need you to forgive her.” 

“What? Bloody hell, Sherlock. She shot you and you died. I can’t forgive that.” John was incensed yet again. “How can you ever, ever ask that of me? Sherlock--”

Sherlock watched his fury build and raised a hand to stop the tirade before it could continue. “I should rephrase. I need you to appear to forgive her. That will buy time until the baby is born and then we can get your paperwork in order to do things properly. Mycroft has been uncommonly helpful lately and would be able to expedite things. He could also provide other accommodations if Mary proves to be unimpressed by your performance.” He added “Mummy and Daddy are desperate to have us for Christmas and you will do it then. It is a sentimental time of year and she will not be expecting it.” 

John blinked at him. “So you’ve forgiven them then?”

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. “I had a long chat with Mummy and I am agreeing to see them on Christmas. It is convenient for you to meet with Mary and will doubly annoy Mycroft by forcing him to attend Christmas dinner. They’ve both apologized and Mummy cried at me.” His mouth twisted with distaste. John tried to hide his grin at this. It was good to know that even Sherlock Holmes was not immune to his mum’s tears. Then it hit him.

“So pretend to forgive her until the baby is born and then what? I can’t trust her so that would leave me raising a child alone. Where would we live? I would need to find childcare so that I can work. I’ll have to find somewhere less expensive to live that’s close to the practice.” Now John had started pacing, raking his hand over his face in agitation. “Ok, I’m freaking out a bit here. This is real, this is really happening. I’m going to be a single father.”

Sherlock considered what he was going to say next. “John, I meant what I said. You will always have a home here. You and your child.” He rushed on before John could answer. “I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with Mrs. Hudson and she has agreed to rent C to me at a lowered rate and I will be converting it to a proper laboratory. We can make this flat child safe and the baby will not need more room than you can provide upstairs for months. According to my research—“

John raised his hand, stopping Sherlock’s speech. “You’ve really thought about this haven’t you?” John was amazed and very touched that he had gone to the trouble of thinking this through while in the midst of everything else. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m sure I can find something and you don’t really want a baby here do you?”

“It’s your child, John. Of course I do.” Sherlock said decisively. He stepped forward and placed both hands on John’s shoulders. “You are not alone in this. Remember that.” He leaned forward and rested his cheek against John’s temple. He brushed his lips against John’s hair and stepped back. “Never alone.”

John nodded, not sure what to make of this unusual show of affection. “Thank you. Are you sure?”

“Of course. I have to go out for the afternoon.” Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and pulled them on. “I should be back shortly. I just need to check on something. Mycroft is insisting that I see him.” He really needed to get himself out of the flat before he did something else rash. He couldn’t help himself. He was giddy that John had agreed and was trying very hard not to show it. Unfortunately it meant that he really did have to see Mycroft.

“Remember to—“ John started to remind him to text when Sherlock held up his mobile. He shook his head. What had just happened? Had Sherlock really just offered to practically help him raise his child? He couldn’t imagine the pre-Fall Sherlock doing any such thing. He smiled a bit. This was going to work. He listened for the front door to close and went to make tea.

“John, dear?” Mrs. Hudson tapped on the door to the sitting room. 

“In here, Mrs. H.” John called from the kitchen where he was waiting for the kettle to boil. “Would you like some tea?” John couldn't seem to sit still. So much had happened and there was so much to do before Christmas. 

“That would be lovely.” Mrs. Hudson said and sat down in Sherlock’s grey leather chair while John finished making the tea and waited for him to take his place in his chair before she began. “John, love, I don’t pretend to know exactly what is going on but I'm not blind. After your row with Mary and poor Sherlock going back into hospital and then I heard you two shouting. I'm very worried about both of you.” John closed his eyes for a moment and gave a small smile. 

“Things have been rather shite lately, that's for sure. We're working on it and hopefully it will be all over soon. Sherlock mentioned that he talked to you.” 

“He did. He was so adamant that we start renovating C right away. He is over the moon planning his lab.” She did look a little nervous about the idea of Sherlock in a full lab.

“Are you sure that you’re ok with this, Mrs. Hudson? You don’t have to agree to it, no matter what Sherlock says. I’m not even sure why he’s going to all of this trouble.” 

Mrs. Hudson looked at him like he'd absolutely lost his mind. “John Watson, if you think for a second that you need look anywhere further than Baker Street then you've got another thing coming. I would agree to anything for you to be able to stay here,” she scolded. “I've never seen Sherlock happier than he is with you here. When you would visit before the wedding, I would hear him dashing about and hoovering of all things! Who else would he do that for?” 

John was a little taken aback by the forcefulness of her words and stayed silent.  
“He was so dreadfully unhappy when you two weren't speaking, though he would never admit it. And lonely. So lonely. Then you got married and he thought he'd lost you forever.” He stopped her. 

“Now wait a minute. He never ‘lost’ me. I tried to contact him and he didn't answer. I just thought he was busy. I know better now what he was up to.” She gave him the ‘idiot’ look that slightly reminded him of Sherlock. 

“Really, John? You didn’t see him after he just came back. I could hear him rattling around up here and I caught him trying to change a bandage on his back by himself. He couldn’t call you, could he? So I made him sit at that table and let me do it for him.” She shook her head slightly. “You have no idea, do you, after all this time?” 

John blanched. “What are you talking about?” 

“I probably shouldn’t say anything at all. It’s not really my place and you both already have so much that you’re dealing with.” She looked unsure. She knew that she was sharing a secret that she probably shouldn’t. John felt a tightness in his chest and he knew, just knew, what she was going to say. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to shout at her to get on with it or stuff a biscuit in her mouth to shut her up before everything changed. “That poor boy has been in love with you from the moment he saw you. I don’t think he realized it until he was gone, but then it was too late, wasn’t it? And then he came back and you had Mary.” She trailed off for a moment. “I expected him to do what he always did and you’d be right back here with him as always. But he grew up while he was gone, our Sherlock, and he was so desperate for you to forgive him that he couldn’t take the chance.” She looked at John suddenly with anger in her eyes and took a swat at him. “And you. You let him plan your wedding. John, what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know!” John said, moving back to avoid another smack. “He seemed so eager to do it and I was so happy that he was getting on with Mary, I didn’t think anything of it.” He fell silent. In love with him? Sherlock? He didn’t think Sherlock thought of anyone that way. He had been almost manic planning the wedding and Mary had told him that Sherlock was just trying to get it over with, like pulling out a splinter or a root canal. How had he not seen it when even she could see it? John wasn’t sure what he felt. He cared about Sherlock that was a fact. But, love?

He had dated men in the past. How Sherlock had not picked up on that, he would never know. It was always something. They had mostly been one-night stands with only one longer relationship in the army that ended shortly before he was invalided home. He thought of how Sherlock had welcomed his comforting touches lately. John relished the times that Sherlock would allow him to run his hand through his hair while resting on the sofa. He had been attracted to Sherlock from the beginning but he had never considered him in that way. He had just assumed “married to my work” meant that he was not interested in anyone.

He looked at his hands. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t knowingly put him through that. You do know that, right?”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes softened. “I didn’t think so, dear. I just don’t know what goes through that funny head of his. I don’t know how he could stand to do it.” She stood and placed her cup on the table. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” John had no idea what to do with this. He needed a good think. A strong drink wouldn’t go amiss either.

“I’d best be going.” Mrs. Hudson patted him on the shoulder as she passed and made her way downstairs.

\--

Sherlock hated Mycroft’s office. Had always hated it, but coming here had been inevitable. It was too important to leave to chance for the sake of a grudge. “John can’t know any of this beforehand. His acting is dreadful and fooling Mary is going to take all of his concentration.” Mycroft raised an eyebrow in agreement.

“It will be arranged. Magnussen is whom you should be concerned with. He will be harder to fool.”

“I’m not worried,” Sherlock said confidently. He wasn’t. It would be a simple exchange. A false laptop for the documents holding Mary hostage. Then she would be occupied until the second part of the plan was implemented. If that part went as well as the first, she would be out of their lives forever. He couldn’t help but look forward to John coming back home permanently. He would be busy raising a child and wouldn’t be tempted at least for a few years to start searching for another woman. Sherlock scowled slightly at this thought. Mycroft saw it but made no comment upon. He hurriedly blanked his face. “If that’s all? Do your part well.”

He turned and swept out of the office.

\--

John was still sitting in his chair when Sherlock arrived. “Is Mrs. Hudson well?”

John slowly looked at him and Sherlock froze in the middle of hanging up his coat and scarf. “What’s happened? Is it Mary?” What had Mrs. Hudson said to John? He glanced around the room again while he finished the task of hanging up his things. No one else had been in the flat except for Mrs. Hudson. Perhaps a phone call? He saw John’s phone where it lay on the kitchen table. No then. The phone would be on the side table if that was the case. John was still looking at him with an odd expression on his face. Sherlock sat in his chair facing John and waited.

“Mrs. Hudson and I had a chat. Or rather, she shouted at me a bit and I listened.” John made himself meet Sherlock’s eyes. This was too important not to. And Sherlock was far too good an actor and he didn’t want to miss anything. 

“How long?”

Sherlock looked to where John sat with an unreadable expression. His eyes widened. “I don't understand….” He trailed off for once at a loss for words. What had she said? Did she think Sherlock had gone back to old habits again? No, they had spoken about that and she knew the signs well enough not to make that assumption. Think. Oh, oh. No that couldn’t be it. She couldn’t possibly know, could she? He thought back to the sympathetic looks she had been giving him and the chat they had shared on the day of John’s wedding. Mrs. Hudson was far, far too observant for her own good. He closed his eyes. “Ah.”

He looked down at his hands where they were clenched in his lap, knuckles white. He couldn't do this. He certainly couldn't look at John, knowing the pitying look that would ultimately result in rejection would be far too much to bear. “John.” He started and stalled. “It’s not… You don’t have to… It’s fine really.” He was incredibly unsure. He flinched in surprise when he felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

“Look at me. How long?”

Sherlock couldn't help it. He leaned into that warm palm but refused to look. “Forever. It seems like forever.” His voice was barely a whisper. He swallowed nervously waiting for a reaction, any reaction. John’s thumb brushed soothingly along his cheekbone. 

“Why didn't you say anything?”

This was humiliating. Sherlock moved away from the comforting touch and edged past John to stand in front of the window as if the view of Baker Street held his salvation from this damning conversation. Damning because now he had confirmed what Mrs. Hudson had evidently let slip to John that was it. It was all over. John would leave. That would be unbearable. Unavoidable. 

“What reason would I have to make such a confession? Emotions have never been my strong suit but even I realize that it would be hardly be appropriate. I came back and you had Mary. It was obvious that you had made a life for yourself and I endeavored to respect that. My only wish was for you to be, well, happy.” Sherlock finally turned and he forced himself to meet John's eyes. “I knew from the start that such,” he gritted his teeth, “feelings would be futile, so you can see there was no reason to reveal anything to you.” Next came the most difficult part. He took a deep breath and blew it out. “You can be fairly unobservant so I was fairly confident that I would be able to conceal any signs. I may have underestimated Mrs. Hudson's powers of observation.”

John huffed out a laugh. “I suppose that's true. That woman can be bloody terrifying with all that she sees.”

Sherlock didn't acknowledge the jest. He had to say the next part out loud to confirm his own doom. “An additional reason that I did not speak of such matters could be considered a defensive act on my part. My previous observations have proven that such…” He gritted his teeth again. “…emotions would not be returned due to the fact that I possess the wrong sort of genitalia for it to be worth the humiliation or the risk to our current relationship.”

Sherlock turned back towards the window to await his fate. He expected to hear footsteps walking away as John retreated to his room. He certainly didn't expect to hear what John said next.

“Sure of that are you?”

He froze. What? 

“What?”

John stepped closer to Sherlock's rigid back. “It is true that most of my relationships have been with women especially the long term ones, it was just…having my heart broken made me swear off men for awhile.”

“What?”

John laughed at that. “You keep saying that. I know you hate to repeat yourself.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up. “I don’t understand. The entire time we’ve known each other you’ve wasted far too much time in relentless pursuit of insipid females and now you are married to one. What other conclusion could I possibly draw from that?”

“That you’re an idiot.” John sounded far too amused at Sherlock’s surprise and it was starting to be infuriating.

“I fail to see anything amusing in this situation, John.” Sherlock slowly gained back his composure, trying to blink back his shock at John's revelation. It was always something.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Suddenly serious, John took the final step forward and placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders to keep him from turning around. He could feel the tension thrumming through Sherlock’s frame and knew this would be easier than face to face. “All this time I just thought that you didn't have any interest in, well, anyone. I’ve always felt a connection but didn’t think that it was more than platonic.” He hung his head forward until his forehead was almost touching the taut spine in front of him. “I never intentionally hid this from you, it just never came up. It’s not gender, Sherlock; it’s the connection that matters. ‘Married to your work’ and all. I just assumed you weren’t interested in me that way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t even know you then.” Sherlock had rallied from his shock and just felt exhausted. He regretted ever saying that stupid line. It was his standard answer to fend off the cretins who hit on him because of his looks. He wasn’t blind. He knew people found him attractive and used it to his advantage. Ford had taught him that. He shook his head. He would not let him taint this. “Now what? Do you want to move out? Is this too much?” Please say no, Sherlock thought. Please.

Now it was John’s turn to look surprised. “Of course not. What would make you think that?” He stood silently for a moment. “You think I don’t feel the same.”

Sherlock felt a slight tug on one shoulder and turned around to finally face this person to whom he had laid himself bare and who had returned the favor in kind. He felt the grip on his arms tighten as if to keep him from fleeing. It was the only thing that was holding him together, keeping him from flying apart. It was terrifying.

John slid a hand up to the nape of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down until he could rest his cheek against that pale face. “I missed you so much,” he murmured. “When you died, a part of me went with you and I thought I would never have that again.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. They stood there, faces pressed so close but unmoving. One of them had to move. One of them had to be brave. He turned, sliding his nose against a lovely stubbled cheek and lightly pressed his lips to the corner of John’s mouth. He drew back and looked at John, making sure this was alright. He received an encouraging nod and went in again, this time kissing him firmly on the lips. 

After a split second, this kiss was returned. John buried his fingers in the curls on the back of Sherlock’s head and slid his other hand around the too-thin ribcage to rest in between his shoulder blades, pulling him closer. Sherlock’s hands fluttered slightly as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them and finally rested them on John’s hips. His lips parted and the kiss deepened. An embarrassing noise escaped his throat and he wrapped his arms completely around John, clinging to him as if he were going to be ripped away. He pulled out of the kiss and buried his face in the junction of John’s neck and shoulder.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t hide.” John held him tightly, feeling the tension starting to ease. “Sherlock…”

“Just give me a moment.” Sherlock pleaded, not raising his face. He could never have guessed how much this would affect him. He would never have guessed because he had convinced himself that it would never happen. That it was just a foolish fantasy. Now that it was real, it was such a palpable relief. He started to shake, unable to contain the release of emotion. John’s hand stroked up and down his back soothingly. He let go of his iron grip on the back of John’s shirt where his fists had balled the fabric up in the desperate act of simply holding on. 

“Sit down before you fall down, Sherlock,” John led him over to the sofa. He sat with his back to the arm and pulled Sherlock down into the vee of his legs, pulling him so that his back was against John’s chest. Sherlock gratefully leaned against him and twisted so that he could rest his head over the steady thump of John’s heart. His hands shook and he gripped the shirt in front of him again, clinging again. “It’s alright,” John said softly, resting his cheek against the top of Sherlock’s head. “It’s all fine.”

“I know it’s alright. I’m not a child.” The petulance was a good sign and John grinned a bit at it.

Their world had shifted forever. They held on to one another to keep from falling off.

It was pure torture but by mutual agreement, they decided not to become more intimate until John had officially separated from Mary. They had waited too long and this was too important to rush into haphazardly. And the simple fact was that it would become too dangerous if they were found out. If Mary was willing to shoot Sherlock once, how would she react if she knew about their change in status?

It was also necessary for John to be believable. It would be that much harder for John to live with Mary at their flat in his part of the ruse if he knew exactly what was waiting for him at Baker Street. The affectionate touches did not stop and grew more frequent, but they were very careful. Mrs. Hudson suspected that something had changed between the two of them after her revelation to John but she couldn’t prove it. They restricted themselves to things that they did before The Kiss, as John referred to it in his mind. Sitting next to each other on the sofa had never been so stressful. They both were looking forward to the New Year with renewed fervor.

And then Christmas happened. John delivered his carefully planned words to Mary. She believed him immediately and then passed out. John could have cheerfully strangled Sherlock in that moment for hiding his real plan from him. Again.

Then Appledore. He would have gladly burned the building to the ground if it would have prevented Sherlock from committing murder in front of so many witnesses. He realized why he did it, but it wasn’t worth it. He would have given anything to stop him.

When he saw Mycroft’s shocked face in the window of the helicopter, he felt true despair. This wasn’t planned, even by Holmes standards.

“Oh, Sherlock, what have you done?”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ford was woken in the middle of the night by an unusual summons. He had a phone call. It was unusual for a prisoner to be able to actually accept a call, but he was an unusual prisoner. The guard was brimming with hints and would not look him in the eye. He led him to the chaplain’s office and he was seated at a small table with a phone. Ford looked at the night supervisor questioningly.

“It’s your sister. She said that there was an emergency regarding your parents.”

Ford struggled to keep the surprise off his face and retain the expected look of concern. He snatched the receiver up, allowing his hand to shake in his supposed stress. “Hello?”

“Ford! Ford, I’m sorry for calling but I need your help. There’s no one else that can possibly do it. Please?”

He was shocked to hear Sasha’s voice. What did she know about his parents? Had she figured out the connection? “What’s happened?”

“It’s Sherlock Holmes. Jo--, my husband is his close friend and Sherlock has gone and done something incredibly stupid. I did um, something that my husband was very angry about and he’s just now forgiven me and I can’t lose him, Ford. I just can’t."

Sasha was making no sense whatsoever and with the night super and guard hovering, he was not going to be able to ask the right questions. He needed to make this believable. Ford bowed his head and conjured up some tears. “Both of them?” he asked in a broken voice. The other two men in the room avoided looking at him and looked very uncomfortable. He covered his face with his hand and let his shoulders shake in fake sobs. The guard kept glancing at the night super. Almost there. “How?” he whispered. The super rose and motioned for the guard to follow him. He mouthed ‘We’ll be out there’ to Ford and was rewarded with a nod and a sniffle. Ford waited thirty full seconds to make sure they were gone and then turned his attention back to the phone.

“What is going on?” Back to business. He tapped a finger on the surface of the desk. 

“Sherlock Holmes shot and killed Charles Augustus Magnussen in front of about ten agents. His brother has negotiated exile instead of prison for him and is sending him to Serbia on a mission that will more than likely end in his death.” Sasha sounded like she was rattling off a report to a superior. In a way, she was.

“Why do you care? Better yet, how do you know all of this?” Ford rubbed a hand over his face. Sherlock, always so damned noble. He knew exactly why Magnussen had to be killed. Oh and at least being exiled instead of rotting away in prison. Bloody Mycroft and his bloody connections.

“I do still have some sources even in ‘retirement’.” Sasha sounded exasperated. “As to why I care, I don’t. My husband does. It almost killed him when Sherlock went on his walkabout. This will be as bad. This is my last hurrah, Ford. I’m done for good after this and if I have to save Sherlock bloody Holmes to save my marriage, so be it.”

“If he means that much to your dear husband, maybe you should just let him die," Ford tested. He wanted to see how deeply Sherlock was involved. After he got out and dealt with Sasha, this might be his opportunity to sway his younger brother to his side.

“I’ll deal with that later. He just can’t go out like this. It needs to be witnessed.”

“By you, I suppose. When is he leaving?”

“The end of the week. I had to call now while they are at his brother’s safehouse where he’s being detained. Will you help? It would be very exciting and will cause all kinds of mischief.”

She knew all of the right buttons to push. He hated that. Not that he needed convincing. “Fine. I’ll come up with something. I may need to call on you again to finalize.” She gave him a number and he repeated it back. “Don’t call here again.” He hung up the phone.

Ford rubbed his eyes to redden them further and waited with his head in his hands for the guard and super to come back. He had work to do.

When he was returned to his cell, he waited until the guards had made their last round and quickly pulled out his mobile. Irene answered right away. “I suppose you’ve heard?” he said, without any usual pleasantries.

“What the hell was he thinking? He’s really stepped in it this time. Big brother can’t even make this one go away.” She paused for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

“Sasha dear has requested that I use my influence for good and save him for her to deal with later. I’ve decided to do just that. Well except for the saving for her part. She won’t be around much longer as it is.” Ford waited for Irene to turn this over in her head. “I think we will be resurrecting an old friend. It will be delightful.”

“You can’t be serious. Is this yet another insane plan you’ve had in your pocket? It will be like stirring up an ant hill!”

“I know. Won’t it be fun?” Ford smiled a bit, thinking of the chaos that he was going to cause. “I need to be out of here by the time it is deployed.”

“That’s— I don’t know if I can—“ Irene trailed off. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded. “Alright. It will be messy.”

“Just do it. I love making a mess. I’ll be back in touch in two days with more details.” Ford rang off. A bright smile lit up his face, teeth gleaming. He would be back in London within the week.

 

Ford was impressed by Irene’s efficiency. Also, her flair for the dramatic would make a Holmes proud. Bringing Jim Moriarty back to life just as the plane was leaving the tarmac was a stroke of genius and the resulting chaos was the perfect cover for his escape. It would keep Mycroft chasing his tail and buy a few precious days of complete freedom before Ford would have to go to ground to avoid big brother.

He left the prison the same way he came in, through the front gate. Faking a medical emergency wasn’t all that difficult, though the dead doctor and nurse that he left in his wake might disagree. Needs must and all. Collateral damage was to be expected and it would never disrupt his sleep. He just didn’t care. He was out and on a private jet back to London, thanks to Ms. Adler. He was disappointed that she was not coming with him, but he understood that she had her own business to attend to. Her debt was paid in full. He ensured her death to the public and now she had given him his life back. They were even.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The plane touched back down on the tarmac with little fanfare. Mary’s horrified face still stared at John accusingly over the top of the car. “You told me he was dead!” she hissed, transforming once again into a person he didn’t know for a moment. John looked at her in surprise. 

John raised his eyebrows at Mary’s outburst. “We still think he’s dead. Don’t panic.”

She smoothed her face back to her normal pleasant visage. “Ok. Ok. I’m not panicking.” 

John thought back to what he and Sherlock had said just before he got on that damned plane. And all that they didn’t say. He was not a stupid man. He knew that Sherlock was hiding something from him and the great git always used humor to cover up and distract from what was really going on. 

Sherlock charged down the steps and strode over to Mycroft in a fury. “What now? What more could you possibly want from me?” Mycroft handed him a tablet and played the video with Moriarty’s face on it. His face blanched. “No. That is impossible. I watched him put a bullet in his brain from three feet away. He’s dead.”

“Of course he’s dead,” Mycroft said calmly. “This is a bid for attention. Very opportune timing, don’t you think?” He gave Sherlock a placid face and Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft countered this with a raised brow that practically screamed, Well?

“I had nothing to do with this, Mycroft.”

“I never said that you did.”

“I accepted the consequences.”

“Yes. For once in your life, you did. One might question why.”

“Piss off.”

“And there you are. Shall we adjourn to my offices to get to work?”

“Fine.”

John watched the brothers volley back and forth, not sure what was going on or what they were going to do about it. Sherlock surely had not planned this, had he? Hell, he wouldn’t put it past Mycroft, but the way they were going on didn’t bode well for that theory. Walking over to them, he left Mary waiting by the car.

“So what now?”

Sherlock wouldn’t look at him. He still had his nose buried in the tablet, tapping furiously on it. Mycroft sighed. “Now, Dr. Watson, you will take your wife home. You will be contacted if needed.”

John flinched as if slapped. He looked at Sherlock, willing him to meet his eyes but that evidently wasn’t going to happen. “Fine. If I’m not useful, we’ll go. Just let me know if anything changes, alright?” He received a small nod from Mycroft and then watched as the brothers got into their car and left. He walked back to Mary and their own waiting car. 

“Well? Are you going after him?” Mary sounded bitter and he hated her for it. 

“No. I’m not needed. Let’s go home.”

The relief on her face was palpable and he forced a small smile in return. After closing her door, his phone buzzed as he walked around to the other side.

**You are always useful. I will contact you soon. SH**

This time John didn’t have to force the smile. 

 

The following days involved more trips to Mycroft’s office than Sherlock ever wanted to endure again. Baker Street was compromised because of its notoriety; Mrs. Hudson was bundled off to her sister’s, which left no choice but to work at Mycroft’s stuffy office. 

Sherlock was taking great pleasure in ignoring the parameters of the board meant for pins and putting holes directly into the walls. The walls were taking the brunt of his frustration at not having John there while he was still playacting the doting husband and could only come by for a few hours at a time. Any more than that made it harder and harder for him to go back to the flat with Mary. 

Sherlock could see the lines on his face and the circles under his eyes as proof that he was struggling. He stabbed a tack viciously into another printout, pinning it well outside the parameter of the board.

“Do you have to do that?” Mycroft said for the twentieth time that day.

“Piss off,” Sherlock replied for the twenty-first. The tenth time he had said it was in response to Mycroft’s inquiry regarding whether or not John would be by. John would not be by until later. He had an appointment with Mary. Sherlock stabbed another pin into the wall. 

“He is going to have a child, Sherlock. Of course he wants to be involved in the medical appointments.” Sherlock ignored him, staring at the wall in front of him. “She is having his child. No matter her transgressions, that means a lot to a man like John.” 

Sherlock refused to let Mycroft’s words affect him. He knew his brother had figured out that something had changed between the two of them and was interfering as usual. His tenacity was infuriating. It also proved that they needed to be even more careful. Sherlock had poked at his doubt like a bruise and decided that he would just have to trust John. It was horrible. 

“He would have stayed with her if you had gone to Serbia. Do you think he would leave her with you out of the picture? After you sacrificed yourself for him yet again?”

“Stay out of things you can’t possibly comprehend. Piss off.” Twenty-two.

 

Mycroft was somewhat relieved when John arrived a few hours later. Sherlock had worked himself up into a frenzy of pacing and was starting to eye some of the valuable items that resided in his office. 

“Any progress?” John stood back next to Mycroft and watched Sherlock scrub his fingers through his hair. He looked exhausted. John wanted to gather him up in his arms and put him to bed. He knew that neither of these actions would be appreciated at the moment and held himself back. Then he heard it. The sound of a woman sighing in pleasure.

Sherlock’s eyes widened as he yanked his phone out of his pocket, uncharacteristically fumbling in his haste. He looked at the screen and then looked at John. He quickly looked back down at the screen, tapping out a message.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” 

John whipped around to Mycroft, choosing him as the first target of his anger. “You told me she was dead.”

“My reports confirmed that. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, John.”

“It’s her.” Sherlock interrupted. John stared at him. Sherlock kept his eyes on the screen of his phone, refusing to look up.

“How?”

“I ensured her survival by preventing her execution in Karachi. She then must have allowed the story of her death to be reported instead. I was not aware that she had done so. Clever.”

John had had enough. The pressure of the absurd situation that he found himself in had grown to be too much. “Of course! One more thing that you lied about. Let me guess, she knew you were alive all along. Did she help you?” He could feel his face start to heat in the humiliation of his hurt and jealousy. He was still so jealous. “After all of your talk about trust. I’m supposed to trust you, but you still don’t trust me!” John’s voice rose with every word, Sherlock’s eyes on the phone but his thumbs had stilled. “I’m living with a woman that tried to kill you after you ask me to trust you. I went with you to Appledore because you told me to trust you. God help me, I did. And you were going to leave me again! You didn’t respect me enough to tell me about Magnussen and now this. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”

“You keep your people away from me unless I ask for them.” John pointed a finger at Mycroft and stormed out of the room.

Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. “Well.”

“Don’t.” Sherlock was still looking at his phone, thumbs moving again. His face was drawn down into a frown, staring at the words appearing there. He suddenly sprang into motion, tossing his phone to his brother. “Read it. We’ve got work to do.” He kept moving until he reached the rooms that he had appropriated for his own, slamming the door.

 

How could he? John kept turning it over and over in his head as he rode home in the car provided. He had almost foregone the car out of spite, but the idea of Mycroft continuing to foot the bill made him change his mind. He was doing everything that Sherlock had asked of him and it still wasn’t enough. Living with Mary was killing him. He couldn’t even look at her, much less make conversation, and yet he was expected to act the loving husband and share her bed. He had refused any of her advances, citing that he was not ready for that just yet and she had accepted that answer. She would start questioning it soon enough.

When they did speak to each other, it always devolved into an argument. She would find some sly way to sneak in a dig about Sherlock without seeming like she was doing it. She was doing her best to drive a wedge in between them, again.

What was the point of it all? If he couldn’t be trusted, why not just let Mycroft scoop her up? He would lose everything. The baby. Sherlock. Who was he kidding? This was never going to work. Sherlock had almost left him again. He said six months but it was exile which meant no return plan. Would he have been able to travel to see him? Or would he run off again? There was still a tiny wriggling thought that Sherlock had lied to him about that as well. John slumped where he sat in the car, the weight of it all becoming too much. His phone buzzed. And then buzzed again.

He turned it off.

 

“Sent you back home, did he?” Mary’s voice grated as soon as he walked in the door.

“Didn’t need me at the moment.” He pulled off his jacket and draped over the back of a chair. “It’s been a long day, I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

“He never needs you, John. I don’t understand why you continue to let him dictate where you go and what you do. You still come running when he calls. I’ll bet he didn’t even tell you what he was working on.”

This was the worst thing that she could have said at that moment. “At least I know his name!” John burst out, already on edge.

“Still defending him, I see. If he had stayed on that plane, you wouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“If you had just come to him in the first place, none of us would have had to deal with this!”

“I can take care of my own problems. I certainly did not need Sherlock Holmes to do it for me.”

“Well, we all saw how that worked out for you. You shot him. He almost died and yet he killed Magnussen to protect you. God only knows why.”

“We both know why.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be stupid, John. We both know he didn’t do it for me.” Mary had moved closer to him as they argued until she was standing practically toe to toe with him, leaning forward to accommodate her swollen belly. “Did you have fun playing house with him? It certainly was cozy being back at Baker Street, wasn’t it? Just like the old days.”

John narrowed his eyes at her and did not back down. “He needed help while recovering from a bullet that you put in him! I wasn’t going to abandon him to do that alone.”

“Of course not. I’m sure he needed you. There’s no one else who could have possibly done it. He was going to be fine but he still took priority over your pregnant wife. How long did you have to wait before you were fucking again?”

At this, John did take a step back. “What? We’ve never—We talked about this! Sherlock and I have never been like that.” But that wasn’t exactly true now, he thought, remembering The Kiss and the agreement that they had made. Mary must have seen the conflict in his face.

“I knew it! I just knew it. Everyone knows, John. The way he looks at you. I saw it the first time I met him.” She followed his retreat, backing him towards the door. “If he wasn’t so damn stubborn, he would be out of our life for good.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“He was supposed to die.” She hissed this last, right in his face. John reached behind him for the knob and yanked the door open. 

“That’s it. I can’t do this anymore.” He slammed the door behind him and pulled out his mobile, powering it back up. “Come get her,” he said as soon as Mycroft answered and hung up.

He didn’t know where he was going but he wasn’t surprised when a black car pulled alongside him. His mobile buzzed.

**Get in the car. SH**

**Please. SH**

**I’ll explain. SH**

John kept up his determined march, ignoring the car rolling along beside him.

**Mycroft’s people have Mary. SH**

**She is in danger from a new player and by association, so are you. Please get in the car. SH**

**Fine**

John stopped. And got in the damn car half expecting Sherlock to be waiting there for him, but he was greeted with an empty seat.

 

After Sherlock had retrieved his mobile to ask John to return for an explanation, he looked over the texts that Irene had sent him. It was evident that she was still in the game by her association with Sherrinford and the assistance that she had provided in his escape from the US. What he didn’t understand is why she would feel the need to warn him. Sentiment, he supposed. If that were the case, why would she have helped Sherrinford in the first place? Of course. She had to disappear and would have needed help. So this was repayment for services received.

John was on his way back and Sherlock needed to think. He paced, ignoring Mycroft’s inquiring looks. This was important and it needed to be handled with some care. John had been furious when he had left and with his call shortly after for Mycroft’s retrieval of Mary, something else must have happened.

“Where is she?”

“Safe. It’s better if I don’t say where, Sherlock. You know the procedure.”

“And John?”

“Arriving in ten minutes.”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and pressed his fingertips to his lips.

 

John faced the door to the office but couldn’t bring himself to enter just yet. He felt like his entire world was crumbling down around him. She had meant for him to die. Why did Sherlock tell him that she had saved his life? Everything was a lie. He turned the handle to enter.

Mycroft looked at him from the desk. He glanced to where Sherlock was still facing the case wall and rose. Straightening his waistcoat, he made his way over to where John stood waiting by the door. “I’ll leave you to it.” He looked hesitant, as if unsure he should utter his next thought. “John. Hear him out.” He took in John’s nod and left the two men alone, closing the door behind him.

“I’m sorry.”

John looked at Sherlock’s back. It seemed that any conversation of importance always started this way. “About what this time? Irene? Mary? Us?”

“Yes. No. Will you allow me to explain?”

John wearily sank into one of the chairs that was placed in front of the desk. “Alright but only if you sit down and face me. I’m not having this conversation with your back.”

Sherlock’s shoulders slumped before he pulled himself back up into his usual immaculate posture. He slid the other chair over so that it was facing John and sat, turning his mobile over and over in his hands. “I apologize for not telling you that Irene was alive. I haven’t thought of her much since Karachi and I just assumed that she had gone to ground to avoid retribution from Moriarty. I suspect that she knew I was alive but I have not had any contact with her before the texts that I received today. I am sorry that you had to find out that way. I did not wish to cause you more distress.”

John studied his face and saw the sincerity there. His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Why did she contact you?”

“It seems that she received help from Sherrinford after Karachi. She repaid his kindness by breaking him out of prison.”

John gaped at him. “Is he the ‘new player’ you were talking about? Why is he coming after Mary?”

“He found out that it was Mary that shot me and has decided to enforce his so-called familial obligation by enacting revenge on her. I fear that this also puts you in danger by association.” Sherlock closed his eyes at this and clenched his hands together. “He also knows of our affection for each other through Irene’s indiscretions. She knew even back then how much I cared for you. This, of course, is a weakness in his eyes and he will want to remove you. I believe he has some unfounded thought to recruit me. I am sorry for this, John.”

John reached and took both of Sherlock’s hands in his own, coaxing them to relax. He unfurled the long fingers and gripped them with his own. “This is not your fault. You can’t help having a nutter for a brother any more than I can help having a drunk for a sister. I do wish that you had told me about Irene but that is something for a later time. It seems that we have a larger problem here. What else did she say?”

“He is already in the UK. It seems that it was fortunate that you had Mary collected when you did. She is being transferred to a safe house. We will be sent there shortly, as well.”

“Well, good for Mary. I couldn’t stand to look at her. We had a row before I left and she said some things that I suspected but didn’t know for sure.” John looked at their clasped hands. “Why did you tell me she saved your life?”

“I—I chose to tell you that because I knew that if you knew the truth, it would jeopardize everything. She told you she meant for me to die that night, didn’t she?”

“She did. I suspect you were supposed to bleed out. That would have given her enough time to get out and home. I would have never suspected a thing.” He blinked hard, fighting the tears that threatened to form. “I would have lost you for good.” His voice broke on the last word and he swiped at his eyes, clearing his throat. “Hmm. Anyway. I’m done with her. We’ll work out the details later but I can’t go back there again. It’s not worth it.”

Sherlock nodded his head as if agreeing with something and stood, pulling John to his feet as well. John barely had time to regain his balance before he was engulfed in a fierce embrace, long arms wrapping around him and holding him close to the lean form in front of him. He quickly acted to return the gesture, getting as close as he could to the other man. Sherlock leaned his head against John’s murmuring something that he could not quite make out. He listened closely and all he could hear was “I’m sorry. So sorry.” 

John drew back and placed a palm on either side of Sherlock’s pained face. He stopped the litany of words with a firm kiss. Sherlock gasped slightly in surprise before returning the kiss with fervor. They clung to each other. The days they had spent apart had been torturous and this kiss was different from that first chaste promise. It held the potential of something more. John smoothed a hand down Sherlock’s chest and drifted around to the small of his back, pulling them closer together. His other hand slid up and buried itself in dark curls. He parted his lips to meet Sherlock’s tongue with his own. This was getting out of hand. They needed to stop.

He felt Sherlock’s hands slide down to his waist and pull their hips closer together. They really needed to stop but it felt too good and it had been too long. He could feel Sherlock’s erection hard against his stomach and was elated to know that he was not the only one being so affected. He felt large hands wandering lower and he finally tore away, panting heavily, and rested his forehead against the firm chest in front of him. Sherlock nuzzled against the side of his face, nipping at his earlobe. John chuckled. “I really don’t want to defile Mycroft’s office.”

“Thank you for that.”

They both turned toward the sound of Mycroft’s voice. John immediately hid his face back into Sherlock’s shoulder. “This is not happening.” His voice was muffled. At least Sherlock had the decency to stop groping his arse.

“If you can contain yourselves, I’ve come to collect you for transfer to the safe house. Mrs. Watson has already been delivered and is waiting there.” John flushed slightly at the mention.

“If you’re quite through being smug, can you give us a moment? We will be along shortly.” Sherlock glared at his brother, arms still surrounding John. 

“As you wish.”

As the door closed, John groaned. “I’m going to get the ‘hurt him and I’ll have you killed’ speech, aren’t I?”

“Assuredly.” This was said quietly into his hair. “I missed you.” Sherlock tightened his arms around him again.

“I missed you so bloody much,” John murmured into Sherlock’s neck and then reluctantly pulled away. “I’m still pretty pissed off about all of the secrets. Is there anything else significant that I need to know? Is Mori-fucking-arty going to pop up like a jack in the box?”

“Irene’s alive. I’m alive.” Sherlock paused. “After all of this is over, I’m taking you to my bed for a week without interruption.” The last was uttered with a quiet determination.

“Is that all? Just a week?” John gave him a grin, cheeks flushing. 

“We’ll see how much stamina you have.” Sherlock returned the grin, relieved to be forgiven yet again. 

“Let’s get this over with before Mycroft sends someone else in after us.”

“Agreed.”

 

“This is a safehouse?” John was shocked at the size and opulence of the estate that the car was pulling up to. The grounds looked immaculate and intimidating as all hell. “We’re going to be staying here? With Mary?”

“Just for a few days. Now that we know that Sherrinford is in the country, plans need to be adjusted.”

“Are you ever going to talk about him? I’m not trying to push, but it could be important.”

Sherlock looked out the window. “I will. We need to talk over some things. About my past, anyway. Before you make any final decisions.”

“That sounds rather ominous but I’ll let you lead on this one, I’m used to that.”

Sherlock looked over to see John’s face so that he could decipher the meaning behind those words. He was relieved to see only a fond look and receive a reassuring squeeze from the hand that rested on his thigh. They had kept at least one hand on each other since they left the office. Sherlock would gladly live out his life always touching John Watson.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A member of the staff who was obviously part of the security detail greeted them at the front door. He was equipped with an earpiece and the outline of his sidearm was just barely visible under his jacket, if you knew where to look. “This way please. Mr. Holmes is waiting.”

They entered another room that was very similar to the office that they had just vacated. A large table was in the center and there were already various papers and photos pinned to the walls. Someone had been busy while they had stopped by Baker Street and then John’s flat to retrieve overnight bags. Mycroft had offered to have someone do it for them but John insisted on doing his own packing. He didn’t intend to go back to that flat again and wanted to make sure that certain things were not missed.

Mycroft was seated at the head table and Mary was to his right, with a closed file in front of her. She barely looked up when they arrived. He glanced up from his tablet and waved them to the available seats on his other side. John took the seat that put him the farthest away from Mary and tried not to look at her. Sherlock gave his knee a quick squeeze and then folded his hands on the tabletop, looking perfectly at home.

“What do we know?”

Mycroft slid over two additional files, identical to the one that Mary possessed. “I asked Mrs. Watson to be patient while we awaited your arrival so that this would only have to be gone over once.” He stood and walked a few paces away before turning back, hands behind his back. “The file before you contains all of the known information regarding Ford Vernet, also known as Sherrinford Holmes.”

At this pronouncement, a groan of annoyance was heard from Mary’s lips. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Seriously? Ford Vernet is your brother? Of course. I should have known. I can see the family resemblance now.” She started leafing through the file. “He knows, doesn’t he.”

“Sherrinford has been informed of your actions, yes. It was the catalyst that prompted him to escape from prison, taking three lives as a result. He always had a misplaced sense of brotherly concern when it came to Sherlock, if it was useful to him.” Mycroft stood and turned his back, studying the view from the window. “He will be looking for you to enact vengeance of some sort. Sherrinford will not hesitate to destroy anyone that gets in his way to accomplish his goal. He can be very persistent.”

“Trust me. I know. Jim went on and on about him. He was so upset when Ford broke off and went his own way.” 

John clenched a fist under the table and released it. It hurt to hear her speak so nonchalantly about her past profession like this. He had known, of course, but they had never spoken of it. And now Sherlock’s brother was coming to kill her in retribution. If this was happening to someone else, it would be a thrilling tale.

He felt the hand return to his knee and knew that Sherlock was trying to comfort him. He appreciated it but it was not the time or place for such gestures. He moved his leg to dislodge the warm palm but then pressed his knee to Sherlock’s long thigh in hopes that he would understand. It made him look fidgety and of course she noticed.

Mary looked from one to the other with a compressed line of a mouth. She stared at John, willing him to meet her eyes. Instead, she was surprised to meet Sherlock’s pale eyes. He held her gaze for a few moments without blinking and she looked away first, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.

Mycroft watched the exchange with interest. Sherlock was staking a claim and she seemed to have conceded. At least for now. 

 

The meeting lasted for hours with the brothers arguing over the best plan to deal with the threat and whether John and Sherlock should remain at the safehouse. John stayed out of the way, interjecting here or there when needed to make a point. He also ignored Mary with a pointed air. She was quiet for most of the exchange and agreed to follow Mycroft’s suggestion that she remain where she was for now. She was the one that was in the direct line of fire, after all.

“We know that he will be able to find us, no matter where we go so why not go back to Baker Street?”

“You are safer here, Sherlock. We have teams in place—“

“You can have teams in place there as well. And I would have the added bonus of my network.”

“You think vagrants will be able to see what trained agents can’t?”

“I think vagrants will be willing to look in places your trained agents won’t think of. But Sherrinford will.” Sherlock knew that he had won this round. He knew Sherrinford the best and understood his thinking and methodologies. 

“We will stay the night and return home tomorrow. I will advise Mrs. Hudson that she is free to return as well. She will be safer there.” He paused and turned to John. “Of course, I’m assuming that you would like to return to Baker Street.”

John spared a glance at Mary and nodded. “I think that would be for the best.” He knew that he and Sherlock were not through talking for the night and he would like to get that over with before bedtime. He looked at the picture of Sherrinford that was included in the file. He had Sherlock’s curls and build, but that’s where the resemblance ended. His eyes, even in the photograph, lacked the warmth that he knew Sherlock’s could contain.

“We are in agreement then. I will acquiesce to your wishes for now, brother mine, but at the first sign of trouble—“

“Yes, yes. You will swoop in and carry us all off to safety.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Watson, please come with me and I will have you shown to your room.”

“Ms. Morstan, if you please. Might as well get used to it again.” Mary followed him without a backwards glance.

 

“So we’re staying here tonight?” John tried to keep his voice light, but failed miserably. It had been a long and mostly awful day, with the exception of the earlier glorious snog. And that wasn’t going to be happening again anytime soon. Mary seemed to have accepted that they were finished, but she was still a trained assassin and it would be good to avoid anymore bullet holes. There was no need to antagonize her.

“Follow me.” Sherlock led the way, turning the opposite direction from where Mycroft and Mary had disappeared. 

“You know your way around.” It was more an observation than a question. John looked around, trying not to feel too out of place.

Sherlock hummed in agreement. “It is an old family home. I suppose Mycroft chose it for its defendability rather than its secrecy. Sherrinford has been here before, of course.”

He led them to a sitting room that held a large stone fireplace framed by comfortable chairs. It reminded John so much of Baker Street that he knew that it wasn’t a coincidence. Sherlock was trying to put him at ease. This was going to be a hell of a talk.

“Scotch?” 

Sherlock was trying to buy time. He was nervous about what he knew he had to discuss with John. It was bound to come up eventually and it was better that it was now rather than later. And this would be more neutral ground. If things went badly, John could always stay here while he returned to Baker Street alone. He didn’t even want to consider that possibility. Everything he wanted was so close. It was terrifying and elating all at the same time.

“Please.” 

John took the chair closest to the fireplace, soaking up the warmth for a moment while he waited. Sherlock handed him the glass and took the opposite seat, taking a quick sip and grimacing at the burn. John sipped his own drink and savored the rich flavor. “This is very good.”

Sherlock nodded, staring into the fire. He put his glass down on a small side table and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“John.” He stopped, still staring into the fire. “You know that I am not proficient in expressing emotion so I hope that this is enough. I care very deeply for you. It is my hope that we can explore our mutual affection together but I find it paramount that I reveal certain aspects of my past that you may find…distasteful. I understand that these revelations may colour your view of me and I will also understand if they cause you to distance yourself from me. You are only human, after all.” He stole a glance at John and received an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, he continued.

“When I was young, I was a difficult child.” John snorted at this. Sherlock gave him a small smile. “The only person that I felt understood me was Sherrinford. He encouraged my curiosity and when I was older, suggested experiments to test various theories that I had. He also introduced me to deductive reasoning. He and Mycroft would compete at times and I learned from observing. Eventually Mycroft grew tired of the game and left us to it. The foundation of who I am began with Sherrinford’s guidance, which is what makes this difficult to speak of.”

“When he was in his twenties and I was in my late teens, Sherrinford became restless. He began going to clubs and associating with unsavory types. I, of course, followed right along behind him as I always had. Mycroft mentioned the drugs?”

At this direct question, John blinked and nodded. “He didn’t really tell me anything that I hadn’t already figured out. Especially after, well, you know.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together. “That was an unfortunate miscalculation. My drug of choice was cocaine when I was with Sherrinford, not heroin. He always said that it made everything seem brighter and faster, including the mind. I believed him and became addicted to the drugs and the attention. We went to clubs and we would get high. He would then deduce an optimal partner for me and would encourage me to do what they wanted, to enjoy myself. At least, that is what I thought was happening. I finally realized that he was doing this to make connections. He knew that I was, frankly, more amenable while under the influence and he used it to his advantage. He used me to get what he wanted.”

John restrained himself from putting out a comforting hand. He knew that this was extremely difficult for Sherlock and he didn’t want to distract.

Sherlock took another drink of scotch, steeling himself for the worst part. “I can blame Sherrinford for taking advantage of my naiveté but what I did after he left is entirely of my own doing. He ran to America in a bid to avoid Mycroft’s interference. I knew that he was sinking further and further into that lifestyle but I was unable to do anything about it. At the time, I was not particularly inclined to care what he did one way or another. After I realized what he was doing, I stopped going out with him. This unfortunately, left me with no resources to continue procuring cocaine. I tried to stop then but it proved to be difficult.” He looked into the flames, feeling that sense of failure that had accompanied that period in his life. Another sip of scotch.

“I chose the least annoying of the people that he had introduced me to and used my allowance that I received to purchase from him. Mycroft caught on to this soon enough and cut me off. I had no money and a raging addiction so I used something that I knew Mycroft couldn’t take away from me. My body and my mind.”

John inhaled sharply at this. From what Sherlock had been telling him, he wasn’t necessarily surprised but it was heartbreaking to hear him say it out loud. To know that this beautiful, brilliant man had been reduced to using his body to continue a drug habit introduced by the only person that he trusted in the world. He hoped that Mycroft would let him have a crack at Sherrinford before they hauled him off. He finished off the scotch and turned his attention back to the man in front of him, schooling his expression to one of encouragement without betraying the deep anguish that he felt inside. He was beginning to fully understand why Sherlock found it hard to openly trust anyone.

“For a time, I used my deductive skills to provide insight on distributors that were skimming off the profits, be it either through money or product. But that proved to be detrimental to keeping up a steady supply when I was discovered to be the source of the information. No one would work with a dealer that had a pet snitch.” He set the glass back on the table, resuming his grip around his knees.

“I finally resorted to trading with a dealer that didn’t care. He was more interested in what I could trade with him in other ways.” His voice lowered to the point that John could barely hear him. “He didn’t have any interest in reciprocating so I would get high and do whatever he asked. In exchange, he kept me in cocaine. This worked for a while until I refused to let myself be used by other people for his amusement. He didn’t take too kindly to my stubbornness and retaliated by upping the dosage without my knowledge. This resulted in hospitalization when Lestrade discovered me during a drugs bust. It was all really very lucky.” He huffed out a strained laugh. “I decided to enter rehab and have been clean since. Except for, you know.” He waved a hand. 

“I do understand if this is not something that you want to pursue. Us, I mean. I’m not a fool. I am an unbelievably difficult person to deal with and the only relationship, if you can call it that, I’ve ever been in has been with a drug dealer that then tried to kill me. So, John, please think this through very carefully. I can bear your rejection now, before I actually have you, but I don’t believe I would be able to bear it after.” Sherlock turned away, body tense, arms tightening around his drawn up knees. He looked unbearably young.

He heard cloth rustling and expected to hear footsteps as John retreated to leave him alone with his anguish. He didn’t expect to feel gentle hands pull his arms away and encourage him to unfold himself from his defensive position. He was also surprised when John knelt in front of him and took his head in his hands, sinking fingers into his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth.

“You lovely, stupid man.” John rested his head against Sherlock’s. “We've all done things that we are not proud of. I know I have.” He scratched the tips of his fingers against the warm scalp under his hands and relished the hum of pleasure that followed. “I just have a few questions and then we don’t have to talk about this anymore unless you choose to.”

“Of course.” Sherlock didn’t move away but he stared down at his hands in his lap, not sure where this was going. John always kept him guessing.

“Do you ever plan on using again?”

“No!” Sherlock flinched slightly. John hands soothed him and he continued. “I admit I was tempted while I was…away, but I did not indulge. I regret what I did for the Smallwood case, but it proved to me that I do not want that ever again. Your disappointment was…horrible. I’ve never had someone disappointed in me that actually mattered.” His lips pursed in confusion at this admission. He had not expected to ever voice that sentiment.

“The caregiver in you is wondering but you won’t allow yourself to ask. I am clean. I am an addict but I tried to be smart about it. I was tested in rehab and have been retested every year for several years after. I haven’t been with anyone else since.” He paused. “Mycroft had them test for everything under the sun when I was in hospital this last time and it was all negative.”

John nodded. “Good. That’s good. One last question. What do you want?”

“What do I want? I don’t understand.”

John could feel the crinkle that appeared between Sherlock’s brows when he was confused or contemplating something difficult. He cleared his throat. “What do you want with...us? I’m not good at this. Hmm. I want you to know without a doubt that I am mad about you. Always have been to be honest. I’m sorry I didn’t figure things out before, well before everything went to shit. It would have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Sherlock’s hands came up to grip John’s wrists, his long fingers wrapping around them like he was afraid John would be taken away. “God. I want everything.” 

“That’s alright, then. We can work with that.” John smiled against his temple and then pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before rising. He turned his hands so that he was gripping both of Sherlock’s. “I don’t know about you, but I’m for bed. Which one’s mine?”

Sherlock stood, still holding one of John’s hands and led him from the room. Stopping in front of a door in the hall, Sherlock gestured to another door opposite. “That one is yours. Your things should be inside. Mine is this one here but I think I’ll sit by the fire for a while.” He looked uncertain. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if we…I mean, I want to, but…” He trailed off.

“It’s fine. I understand and I agree. It’s a horrible idea.” John kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth and drew back, running his thumb across Sherlock’s lower lip. “That doesn’t make it easier. Night, Sherlock.” John opened the door to his room and went inside.

Sherlock meant to stay up and think about what they had talked about but the sleepless nights were catching up with him and even his transport was starting to rebel. The scotch hadn’t helped and he finally gave up. Dressing in his usual pajamas, he slid into the bed that had been his when he was younger. This was always the room that he would stay in when they would come here. John was in the room that Sherrinford used.

He hadn’t thought about Sherrinford for years. Hadn’t thought about what he used to do with him. The drugs. The people that would paw at him in the clubs. All of it for the benefit of Sherrinford’s criminal enterprises. He hated that he had been so stupid to be manipulated like that but at the time it hadn’t felt that way. He lost himself in the drugs and Sherrinford always made it sound like such a good idea, whispering in his ear about this one or that one that wanted him. 

John wanted him. Cared for him. Wanted to be with him and accepted him. And Sherrinford would try to take that away from him. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind as sleep overtook him, curling up on his side as if he could hide from them.

 

Hours before dawn, Sherlock awoke with a shout trying to tear its way out of his throat. Chest heaving, he sat up and scrubbed his hand over his face. He felt the wetness on his cheeks and wiped the remaining tears away. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to banish the images that his mind had plagued him with. Sherrinford had put a bullet in John’s head while Mary watched. He could still see the light leaving John’s eyes. He scrambled out of bed, untangling himself from his sweat soaked sheets and pulled on his dressing gown before opening the door.

John woke to the sound of his bedroom door opening. He automatically reached for his gun from its place on the nightstand but stopped when he realized that it was Sherlock standing in the doorway. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” He was instantly awake and on alert.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Sherlock turned to go back to his room, embarrassed that he had been so affected by the dream.

“Wait. Come here.” John motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing," Sherlock hesitated, wanting to be near John in the aftermath of the dream but still humiliated to be seen as needy.

“Get over here.” John patted the bed again. “Tell me.”

Sherlock padded over to the bed and sat down primly on the edge. “I, um, I had a bad dream.” He grimaced at how childish he sounded. “I just wanted to make sure that you were alright.”

John looked at him very seriously. “I don’t doubt it. I’m surprised that I’ve been able to sleep at all.” He studied Sherlock’s profile and made a decision. He scooted over and lifted the edge of the duvet in invitation. “Get in, genius. We’ll both sleep better.”

Sherlock was shrugging out of his dressing gown before John had finished speaking. He dropped it to the floor and clambered on to the bed, only to lay on his back with his arms to his side. It had seemed like such a good idea, but now he didn’t know what to do. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Share a bed with another person.”

“Really?” John tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice but he realized as he said it that Sherlock’s sexual experience consisted of one offs in clubs and then an abusive pseudo-relationship, so it shouldn’t be surprising at all. “Turn on your side, facing away from me.” 

Sherlock obeyed, tucking one hand under his cheek. He felt the warmth of John’s body as he scooted up close behind him, draping an arm across his waist and pulling him closer. 

“Alright?”

Sherlock smiled and let himself sink into the comfort of having John this close to him.

“It’s perfect. Goodnight, John.”

 

Morning came too soon. The sunlight streaming through the curtains woke John from what had finally been a very pleasant sleep. He blinked himself awake, wondering why he felt so comfortable and warm. He was on his back and looking down, all he saw was dark curls. He smiled, remembering Sherlock coming in last night and being so unsure about just sharing a bed. He seemed to have figured it out. His lanky form was wrapped around John with a long leg thrown possessively across his thighs. John pressed a kiss to the top of his head, taking in the rare sight of Sherlock completely still and relaxed. So relaxed that he was drooling a bit on John's t-shirt.

After a glance at the clock on the bedside table, John realized that they would need to get up soon to head back to Baker Street and prepare for whatever madness came next. He swept a hand up and down Sherlock’s back to gently rouse him. This resulted in a sleepy grumble and arms tightening around him. John laughed quietly. Sherlock Holmes was a cuddler and a fairly clingy one at that. “Hey. It's time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

This earned him a half-hearted glare. “Are you always this heartless to your bed partners?” It would have held more threat if Sherlock’s face hadn’t been mashed into John’s chest.

John chuckled again. “As I see it, we need to get up before your brother sends someone to get us. I have no doubt he knows you’re in here.”

“Let him.” 

Sherlock slid across John’s body, planting his knees on either side of John’s waist. The duvet pooled around him as he made himself comfortable on John’s thighs. He studied John with a thoughtful expression. “You meant what you said last night.”

“What?” John was having trouble following this line of thought. He was not awake enough to have a conversation and not react to the gorgeous man currently sitting astride him. 

“Everything. You want everything as well. Do keep up.”

“Such a romantic.” John rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, you berk.” He knew that Sherlock was covering up his nervousness with his imperious tone and decided to have mercy on him. “Yes, Sherlock. I meant every word I said last night. I want everything and all that entails. With you.”

He was rewarded with one of Sherlock’s honest crooked smiles and he met it in kind. Sherlock leaned down and instead of the kiss John was expecting, he slid his arms under John’s back and buried his face in his neck. John was completely surrounded by Sherlock and it was so endearing that he almost couldn’t stand it. He felt a tension that he hadn’t even realized that he carried ease. He gratefully wrapped his own arms around his-partner? Boyfriend? Ugh, no-and let himself enjoy the moment. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock pulled back and placed a gentle kiss on John’s lips before grinning against them. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I do hope you realize this.”

“That makes two of us.” John murmured against Sherlock’s lips before grabbing his hips and rolling them over so that he was leaning over the stunned man. Sherlock’s eyes widened in surprise at John’s maneuver and he swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing. 

“Seems like you know exactly what you’re doing.”

“You have no idea.” John leaned down and captured Sherlock’s mouth in a heated tangle of lips and tongue. Sherlock groaned into his mouth, responding instantly. His slid his hands down John’s back and gripped his arse, pulling him fully against him. They were separated by only a few thin layers of cotton and it was too much. One hand came back up to tug at the hem of John’s t-shirt insistently. 

“Off. This needs to come off.” He relinquished his other hand's proprietary hold to assist in the task. 

John sat up quickly with the intention of stripping off the offending garment when he heard a knock on the door. He froze, looking at Sherlock who flung his head back down on the pillow with a thump. The knock sounded again.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock spat out and sighed heavily. “He won’t go away. He’ll just stand out there. Smugly.”

John rolled off him and scrambled off the bed. “For God’s sake. He’s better at this than my Mum.”

“Better at what?” Sherlock tilted his head, getting to his feet as well.

“Being a cockblock.” They locked eyes and laughed. John reached up and smoothed down a wayward curl. “Let him wait just a second. I, um, need a minute.” He didn’t want to face Mycroft with a raging erection, and he was certain that Sherlock didn’t either. 

“As do I.” They spent the next few moments pulling themselves together and trying to be a little more presentable. Sherlock snagged his dressing gown off the floor and pulled it on before opening the door.

Mycroft, already dressed in his usual three piece suit and tie, spared a glance inside before entering the room. “I apologize for the interruption but I thought it would be prudent to come and retrieve you personally.” He looked at John, who was trying not to grin too broadly, and rolled his eyes. “Baker Street has been cleared and you can return as soon as you are ready. Mrs. Hudson is being conveyed from her sister’s and will be awaiting you there. She insisted on returning straight away.”

Sherlock swept past his brother on the way to his room to gather his things. John huffed out a laugh. “He means thank you.”

“No he doesn’t!” Sherlock boomed from the other room. “Come on John!”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at John, who was pulling fresh clothes from his bag. “I hope you understand exactly what you are doing.”

John met his eyes, suddenly serious. “I think I do. The only thing I can do is try. That’s all any of us can do.”

“You need to speak to Ms. Morstan. I believe that you will have no issues filing the proper separation paperwork.” Mycroft glanced at the door, keeping an eye out for Sherlock’s return. “If that is what you desire, I will do what I can to expedite the procedure.”

“Thank you.” John was taken aback by this unaccustomed show of generosity. “I would appreciate that.” His face drew in for a moment. “No time like the present, I guess. Is she up?”

“Ms. Morstan is currently having breakfast in the dining room. It is just past the office.” Mycroft turned to leave. “Shall I inform Sherlock of the delay?”

“Yes, if you would. Tell him that I won’t be long.” John followed him to the door. Sherlock would not be happy but it needed to be done and finished. Or finished except for a few signatures.

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft gave him an uncharacteristically sympathetic look and braced himself to deliver the news to Sherlock.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

John dressed carefully and left the bedroom that he and Sherlock had shared, however briefly. It was time to bring an end to this mess with Mary and it would benefit them all to have it resolved. The bigger problem of Sherlock’s wayward brother needed to be addressed with no other distractions. They were going to have to work together or someone would die. 

No matter what Mary had done, he couldn’t bring himself to wish her harm. He had truly loved her, rather he had loved the person that he thought she was. He probably could have accepted or at least tried to understand what she had done in the past if she had just been honest with him. She knew his past, knew that he had killed people, should have known that he would try and would have listened. 

Instead, she had attempted to take the life of someone he loved. He hadn’t understood until recently that he was in love with Sherlock but, in different ways, he had loved him since the day they met. It had broken him when Sherlock died and Mary knew that. She had rescued the empty shell that he had become and made him better. A part of him would have always belonged to Sherlock, but he could have been happy with Mary. Until she had betrayed everything that he thought she was and put a bullet in the very person that was her equal in John’s eyes. That was probably one of the driving factors that caused her to commit that act. 

She had always asked if he and Sherlock had been more than friends before he died and John had always told the truth. That he had loved Sherlock dearly but they were never like that. Sherlock was not like that. He had been wrong about that fact, but that was neither here nor there. 

What she had done was unforgivable, but she was also pregnant with his child. Which made everything muddled in his head. He knew that he could not remain her husband but that didn’t mean he did not want to be a father. An unexpected father, to be sure. He never thought that he would have a child and, though not planned, he was excited about the prospect. He hoped that Mary would be amenable to sharing the result of the love that they had once had for one another.

He also wondered what Mycroft had said to her. The way that he had spoken, it was practically done already. All they needed was the signatures. Things were rarely that easy. John’s steps slowed as he approached the dining room.

Mary was seated at the table, the remains of her breakfast, toast and eggs, in front of her. She was finishing off a glass of juice when he entered and paused just inside the door. 

“Come in then. Let’s get this over with.” Her voice betrayed her exhaustion which stemmed from her pregnancy and the sheer amount of stress that the past few days had wrought.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d even talk to me.” John sat on the opposite side of the table, snagging a cup to pour himself some tea. He motioned the teapot toward her and she shook her head.

“I could say the same.” She rolled her glass between her hands, seeming to be unable to sit still. “I suppose you want to go ahead and file? I won’t fight you on it. No worries about that.”

John nodded, a bit surprised that she was being so calm about everything. It made him wary. “Figured I would do. You can have the flat.”

She snorted. “Back to Baker Street then?” She immediately looked contrite. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She set the glass on the table carefully and folded her hands on top of her belly. “I don’t know why I should be so surprised. It was always there in the wings, even before I…” She trailed off and then shook her head, getting back to the matter at hand. “I don’t think I’ll go back to the flat either.”

“You can still have it. Do with it what you like.” John sipped his tea, determined to be the rational one here and avoid accusations. “Then what? What are we going to do about her?” This was the sticky part. If Mary wanted full custody, he knew he would have to fight her on it. He couldn’t trust her not to disappear and it would be difficult enough if she wanted to share custody.

“I think it would be best if she lived with you as primary caretaker.” 

John was shocked. He would never have expected for her to offer that option. “What? Why?”

She blinked at him, head tilted. “Do you not want to?”

“Of course I do! I just, I would never have thought—“

“That I would allow my daughter to be raised by you and a madman? Not my first choice, but it seems that I don’t have the luxury of making a different one.” Mary's eyes hardened. “After Ford is captured, I apparently have some business in Eastern Europe to take care of if I have any hope of remaining a member of free society.” The disdain dripped from her words. “So you see, the logical choice is granting you full custody.”

Now Mycroft’s cryptic words made sense. Of course he knew that she would agree to the divorce because he had made it impossible for her not to. John didn’t know quite how to feel about this turn of events and he took a moment to sort it through. He couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful toward Mycroft for interfering but he knew that it was more to benefit Sherlock than himself. He had managed to wrap up John’s divorce and custody troubles neatly in one fell swoop, when all he had expected was hopefully a little help to expedite the paperwork. That was a lot to take in. 

He had to make a decision.

“Alright.” 

“Alright?” She was still observing him, head still tilted in a manner that eerily reminded him of Sherlock. “That’s all you have to say? Alright?”

“Yeah. That’s all I have to say. You made your bloody bed and now you have to lie in it. I can’t say that I’m sorry about that.” He rose from the table. “I am sorry that things had to play out this way, if you had just told me—“

“You would have what? Said ‘Oh love, that’s alright! We’ve all made mistakes!’? That’s shit and you know it.”

“I would have tried to understand. I can’t promise that we would have worked it out but it would have given us more of a chance. You did this. You chose this.” He closed his eyes, struggling to stay calm. He opened them to meet her eyes steadily. “I’ll talk to Mycroft and have the papers drawn up. He’s an interfering git but he gets things done and he still owes me one.”

He had almost made it through the door when she called him back. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope he makes you happy.”

“No you don’t.”

“No. I don’t. It’s just something you say, I suppose.”

“Suppose so. He does though, he really does.” John quirked a small sad smile. “He really liked you, you know.”

“I know. Not so much now.”

“No. Not so much.” He was silent for a moment, not sure how much more he wanted to reveal. “He already loves her. She’ll be in good hands.” He left her still sitting at the table. Time to find Sherlock and go home.

\--

Martha Hudson was relieved to be back in her own home. She loved her sister dearly but there was only so much one could hear about doctor’s visits before throwing oneself out of a window. She was much more comfortable dealing with the chaos of Baker Street and its occupant. Occupants, it would seem now. The lovely young woman that worked for Mycroft had mentioned that John would be joining Sherlock back at Baker Street. That was a relief. It seemed that her boys had worked everything out.

She had understood that John had moved back in with Mary but she didn’t understand why. That kind of betrayal, if a person could try to move past it, would inevitably ruin a relationship. She knew that better than anyone and her husband had not shot her best friend. He had just cheated on her and committed murder. She didn’t miss him at all.

All of that didn’t matter at the moment. The important thing was that her boys were going to be back soon and she wanted to be ready for them. Mycroft’s agents had finished checking all three of the flats, including C with Sherlock’s planned laboratory halfway built and she wanted to dust just a bit and change the bed linens. She had just gotten Sherlock’s bed stripped when she heard the buzzer at the front door. Sherlock must have replaced it or Mycroft’s minions had done. 

She opened the door and was greeted by a handsome young man that reminded her very strongly of someone. He was tall and slim and impeccably dressed. He looked very familiar. “Can I help you, dear?”

“Mrs. Hudson, I presume?” He gave her a bright smile that she couldn’t help but return. “It’s so lovely to meet you! I’ve heard loads about you from Mary.”

Her smile faltered. “From Mary? Mary Watson? Are you a friend of hers?”

“A colleague to be precise. I have a problem that needs solving and she told me all about Mr. Holmes and mentioned that he has the loveliest landlady. Is Mr. Holmes available?” 

“I’m afraid not, dear. He and Dr. Watson should be back soon. Shall I leave them a message for you?” Mrs. Hudson was still peering at him, sure that she had seen him before. He just seemed so darn familiar.

“Please tell them that Ford Vernet stopped by. I’ll be in touch. Thank you for being so kind.” He smiled again and stepped over to the car that had been idling at the curb.

Like a flash, it hit her. She knew where she had seen him before. It was in Florida just before Sherlock had come to her rescue and ensured her husband’s execution. That same young man, even younger then, had been one of the most ruthless of her husband’s employees. He was the one that was sent when a strong message needed to be delivered. He was able to mimic perfectly whatever role was required to accomplish the job and get him close to his mark. It was the same eerie shamming that he had just used on her.

She slammed the door and locked it. Mycroft’s men were supposed to be watching! Where were they and how had they allowed someone like that to get so close? She pulled the mobile that Sherlock had insisted that she keep for emergencies out of her apron pocket and dialed one of the handful of numbers it contained.

\--

Sherlock was in his own room, scooping his things back into his overnight bag when Mycroft came to find him. He was dressed but still searching for socks when he heard footsteps.

“What do you want? Were you not smug enough earlier to last the entire day?”

Mycroft peered down his nose. “I have been sent to inform you that John is currently speaking with Ms. Morstan and will be delayed. He asked that you wait for him here.”

“You left him alone with her?” Sherlock, socks and shoes forgotten, attempted to push past him when a hand was put up to bar his way. 

“He is perfectly safe, brother dear. They have some details to work out and I suggest that you allow them to finish. It would be to your advantage to let him do this on his own.”

Sherlock ran his eyes up and down his brother. “What did you do?”

“Why I only eased the way a bit. I made sure that Ms. Morstan was properly motivated, that’s all.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That means, brother mine, that John will soon be free to do as he likes. He will be able to raise his child without fear that Ms. Morstan will spirit her away.” Mycroft observed the surprise that accompanied that statement, fleeting as it was, before it was hurriedly covered up with Sherlock’s usual sneer. 

“John will not be happy with your interference.”

“On the contrary, I think he will see the logic in the solution. As it is, I owe him a debt.” Mycroft wrinkled his nose. “He has never forgiven me for my part in your deception and he makes my life easier by keeping his eye closely on you. Among other things.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the innuendo. “Don’t listen at doors and you’ll be spared from hearing things that you don’t wish to hear.” Where was John? Surely it didn’t take that long to discuss the details of their separation. Unless he was having second thoughts. Was he having second thoughts?

“He’s not having second thoughts, Sherlock.” 

He hated when Mycroft did that. “Of course not. I’m not concerned in the least.” This pronouncement earned him a raised eyebrow.

“Of course. My mistake.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “I do wish you the best. I hope that you can be happy together.”

“You actually said that with a straight face. Mummy would be so proud.” Sherlock said from the chair where he was busily putting on socks and shoes. He peered at his brother. “You actually mean that don’t you?” 

“Of course I meant it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Sherlock waved a hand. “You say things you don’t mean all the time. Now where is my—ah!” He uncovered his mobile from the mussed bed with a flourish. “Do go away. You’ve got a whole other brother to bother now.”

He was in the midst of ignoring Mycroft, who had decidedly not gone away, and checking his email when his phone started to ring. He looked the display and answered it quickly. “Mrs. Hudson?” He listened intently and then his eyes shot up to meet Mycroft’s. “When? Are you sure of the name? I need you to be precise. He said Ford Vernet?”

Mycroft pulled his own mobile out of his pocket and dialed. “I need a report from Baker Street immediately. He’s made contact.” He hung up and waited for Sherlock to finish calming Mrs. Hudson, which was not going well.

Sherlock finally told her that he was calling Lestrade and would be there as quickly as he could, pulling on the Belstaff at the same time and snatching up a few final items. He rang off and fired off the requisite text to summon Lestrade, who had been informed of the situation. It was necessary to avoid any other acts of intimidation by threatening the people that he was close to. Greg had declined the extra protection, citing that New Scotland Yard would be the safest place for him anyway.

“Where is he?”

“In the dining room.” Mycroft’s answer was thrown back over his shoulder as he made his way to the office where Anthea was awaiting his orders. He had to find out what happened to the agents that were watching over Baker Street. Sherringford would never have made it to the front door unless they had been incapacitated.

\--

John was returning to his room to finish gathering his things when he was practically bowled over by Sherlock. “Oi! Careful! What’s going on?”

Sherlock’s attention had been focused on his mobile, confirming Lestrade’s immediate departure for Baker Street when he met John in the hallway. “Sherrinford has made contact. He showed up and rang the buzzer. Mrs. Hudson recognized him from Florida and phoned me right away. I’ve sent Lestrade and his people to fill in the gap until we get there. We need to leave. Now.” Sherlock caught his eyes and John could see the worry there. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

John nodded and didn’t bother to ask any questions. They would have plenty of time in the car on the way back to London. He just kept on his original path to his room and was ready to go in minutes. The driver took his bag and put it into the boot as he got into the back, sliding in next to Sherlock.

“Is she ok?”

“For now. Lestrade is there. He can be very efficient in an emergency.”

“What do we know?”

“Sherrinford or Ford, to use his chosen alias though it’s not very creative, showed up at Baker Street in a car with a driver and simply rang the bell. Mrs. Hudson was already there preparing the flat for our return and answered the door as usual. He spoke to her briefly and then left.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s enough!” Sherlock was furious, John could see that now. He was also terrified. “He appeared at our home, John. That is not acceptable.” His hands trembled around where they gripped his mobile. He looked at them curiously. “There it is. This is fear. I should not be afraid of my own brother. Should I?”

“No.” John reached over and took one of Sherlock’s hands, unwinding it from around the phone. “You definitely should not. But in this case, it’s understandable.” He peered into Sherlock’s face, alarmed at what he found there. He could see the rapid breaths in the quick rise and fall of Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock. Sherlock! You need to take deep breaths.”

Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes. “You saw the files. You know what he is capable of. What he has done.” He was having trouble focusing. He felt a bit dizzy. Why was he dizzy?

John was now gripping both of Sherlock’s hands. “Sherlock. You’re hyperventilating. Take deep breaths.” Sherlock looked at him, uncomprehending. “Deep breaths, love.” At the endearment, Sherlock seemed to come back to him.

“What? John?”

“You need to slow your breathing or you’re going to pass out. You're heavy and I don’t fancy hauling your arse out of this car. So deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it.” Sherlock was finally doing as he was instructed. John had released his hands and was rubbing circles on his back.“Keep doing that. It’s going to be fine. Greg is with Mrs. Hudson and he won’t let anything happen to her.”

Sherlock felt better. Less dizzy anyway. He knew John was right. He wouldn’t let him know that, but Sherlock could acknowledge the logic in his statements. “Of course. I know that.”

John smiled. “Feeling better?”

Sherlock nodded. Then something occurred to him and he blinked at John. “You called me love.”

John grimaced. “Sorry about that. Just slipped out. I know you probably don’t like things like that.”

“No. I liked it?”

John snorted out a laugh. “You don’t sound entirely sure about that.”

“I definitely liked it.” Sherlock filed this away for further study. His phone chimed. “Mycroft’s men have been found. They’re dead.” He read the next text that came in. “He is sending another team. I hope they are not as incompetent as the first.”

“Sherlock. Bit not good, that. We still don’t exactly know what we’re dealing with here. What happened to them?” John felt apprehension coil in his gut.

“Single bullet to the head. Close up. No gunshots were reported so they must have been silenced.” Sherlock typed another message. “I put out the information to the network. I should receive word back within a few minutes.” He reached out and took John’s hand, still tapping on his phone with his other hand. “For the moment, we wait.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

Ford was thoroughly enjoying himself. The indulgence of making an appearance at Baker Street had been well worth the trouble, as was watching the flurry of activity that he had caused. It was like kicking over an anthill. He had counted on Mrs. Hudson recognizing him and she had not disappointed. It was logical that the first call she made would be to Sherlock.

The screen showed that Sherlock’s pet Detective Inspector had arrived and was currently consoling Mrs. Hudson. He had arrived shortly after Ford had made it back to the flat that he had acquired through another one of Irene’s contacts. He had overstayed his welcome in this one and could not take the chance that Irene’s sentiment would outweigh her loyalty. He would be moving on shortly.

The cameras that Mycroft had installed in Baker Street were so convenient. It was child’s play to hack into them and the quality was impressive. He expected nothing less from the British Government. He watched as the DI alternated between patting the hand of the shaken woman and pacing while he obviously waited for someone to arrive.

With a flick of a slender finger, he cycled through the different camera feeds. Front door, the landlady’s sitting room, Sherlock’s sitting room and back to the front sidewalk. He picked up his mobile and sent a few messages that would expedite his move to a more suitable and secure office of operation.

\--

After two hours had passed, Lestrade finally gave in and called John. “Where are you?”

“Almost there. About twenty minutes. How is she holding up?”

“As well as can be expected.” he sighed. “A bit freaked out still but she’s already baking biscuits and I’ve had so much tea that I’m floating here, mate.”

“Ta, Greg. Thanks for doing this. It’s always something, isn’t it? Be careful.”

“I will. You two as well, yeah?”

“See you in a few.” John rang off and turned to Sherlock who had not relinquished his hand for the entire drive. “You alright?”

“Of course, John.” Sherlock put his phone down and gave him his full attention. “I knew that Mrs. Hudson would recover from her fright. Sending Lestrade was just a convenience.”

John rolled his eyes. “Right. I was asking specifically about you, you prat.”

“I’m fine. My earlier state was an anomaly and you shouldn’t concern yourself about it.” Sherlock let go of the hand that he had taken possession of and turned toward the window, seeming to be absorbed in the passing cityscape.

John grabbed his elbow and made him turn around. “Oh no you don’t. I will always be concerned and you just need to accept that. We need--sod that--I need you here and present with me now and that means you need to be up front when you’re worried or afraid. That means no getting embarrassed about a completely natural physical and emotional reaction. Accept it. You are human, Sherlock.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

John laughed. “I know.” He reached up and planted a kiss right on the crinkle in between Sherlock’s brows. “But you do have to tell me. That’s the new rule.”

A corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. Sherlock wasn’t sure if his reaction was to the display of affection or the knowledge that John would not view him as weak. “We have rules now?”

“We’ve always had rules. You just choose not to follow them. Prat.”

“I will try, John. I cannot promise.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, love.”

There it was. That word again. Sherlock couldn’t help the confusion on his face. “You said it again.”

"Hmm? Said what?"

"Love. You called me love again."

John noticed the slight flush on Sherlock's cheeks and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. "Sorry? It just slipped out but I won't do it again if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No. I do like it, I just don't understand. Should I call you something? What should I call you?" 

Now the confusion was turning into embarrassment. John couldn't help the laugh that slipped out. "Anything you want, Sherlock. John is just fine for now. And on that note, we're here."

The car pulled up to Baker Street and the dark-suited driver got out quickly to open the door for them. Sherlock leapt out and strode across the walk to the door, with John following closely behind. They headed directly for Mrs. Hudson's flat while the driver retrieved their bags from the boot and sat them in the front hallway. "Um, thanks." John called belatedly to the closing door then turned to follow Sherlock's disappearing coat.

He entered the front room to a scene that never failed to surprise him. Sherlock had taken Mrs. Hudson into his arms and was murmuring something as he held her tight. He looked at John and held an arm out in invitation. John stepped over and added his arm around Mrs. Hudson shoulders, resting the other hand on the small of Sherlock's back. 

"I'm so sorry that you had to be involved in this. I promise you that I won't let him hurt you. Either of you." The fierceness of Sherlock's voice was intense.

"Guys?" Lestrade was hovering at the edge of the room, not quite sure what to think of the display. "What's next?"

\--

After reassuring Mrs. Hudson that they would be back down later to check on her, they made their way up to flat to get to work. Anthea had arrived while they were still downstairs and had delivered all of the footage that showed Sherrinford's visit. Sherlock had immediately set to work viewing it while John and Lestrade fielded phone calls and texts from various members of the homeless network. 

After the initial check in flurry, John and Greg took a seat at the kitchen table to await their next assignments. 

"So." Greg shifted in his seat, not quite looking at John.

John raised his eyebrows. "So?"

Greg huffed out a breath. "It's none of my business, but..."

"Right. None of your business." John narrowed his eyes but softened them slightly after seeing the concern on Greg's face. "Go on then."

"Um, yeah. So you're a..." Vague hand gestures. "...thing, now?"

"I guess you could say that. It's a, um, recent development."

Greg nodded. "He finally came clean, then?"

A loud thump sounded from the sitting, startling them both. A quick glance revealed the source of the sound as Sherlock scrambled to gather up the stack of books that he had knocked over to cover his eavesdropping. He placed them back on the table and went back to his laptop as if he had not been trying to listen on the conversation.

John grinned at Greg. "Evidently we're both idiots. You knew? Why didn't you say something?"

"Wasn't mine to tell, mate. Can I ask you something?" Greg smile faded and John nodded his permission. "What happened with Mary? I mean, I know that she's wrapped up in this and has some connection to this mystery Holmes. But..."

"What happened with us?" John sighed. "Might as well get this over with. You're involved in this now so it's probably best if you know the whole story." He took a moment, resigned to having to tell the whole thing over again.

"He needs to know, John." Sherlock's voice brought him out of his reverie. "He's a target for being my friend and he deserves to know."

Greg's eyes widened in shock. John shook his head, silently asking him not to respond to the uncharacteristically kind words. "Alright. Here we go."

It felt good to talk to someone about this that wasn't directly involved. Greg was a good listener and asked just the right amount of questions. His anger was genuine when John confessed that Mary had meant to kill Sherlock, to keep John from finding out about her past and he glanced at the sitting room when Magnussen's death was mentioned. He lowered his head into his hands. "Bloody hell."

"Yeah. That's it. And that's why Mary and I are done. She's leaving for a while after this. Baby will stay here with Sherlock and me." John realized that in all of the fuss and rush of the drama with Sherrinford, he had almost forgotten about what Sherlock had agreed to do.

"Really? So you're making a proper go of this then?" Greg grinned his approval. "I hate that it all had to come about like this, but I'll be the first to say it. It's about time."

"Ta, Greg. Now let's go and see if His Royal Highness has any orders for us."

\--

Later that night, it was becoming more and more apparent that they were getting nowhere. Sherrinford had pulled his disappearing trick again since the initial sighting at Baker Street and Sherlock had sent out another round of messages out to his network, but they were proving to be fruitless.

The endless pacing and the half hour he spent berating Mycroft for his incompetence were starting to wear on everyone else in the flat. It had been a long day full of frustration. John and Greg were exhausted. Sherlock, of course, was in full case mode and had no interest in the human weaknesses of needing food and sleep to keep going. 

"For god's sake, if you can't manage to keep from yawning, go and be useless somewhere else!" The outburst was accompanied by glass rattling slam as Sherlock headed downstairs to smoke yet another cigarette.

John rolled his eyes. It was going to be hell getting him off of those again. "The prat has a point. I'm dead on my feet and you don't look much better. Go take my room upstairs and I'll kip in Sherlock's. Not that he'll actually sleep anytime soon." The last was said under his breath but Greg smirked at him.

"Alright. See you in the morning. Try not to kill him." Greg stretched and took himself to bed.

John waited for Sherlock to come back in before heading off to bed. "It would be a good idea if you got some sleep too." No response. "Let me know if I can help with anything." He kissed the top of an unresponsive head and went to bed as well. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

\--

The sunlight streaming through the curtains that John had neglected to close woke him far too early. He groaned and pulled the pillow over his face, turning away from the bright light only to encounter a thigh. "What time is it?"

"It is after eight and high time that you got up, John. There is a possible lead that we need to look into." Sherlock was sitting against the headboard, tapping away on his laptop. He reached over to the nightstand to retrieve a cup of tea and offered it to the pillow covering John's head. "Here. You will be unbearable without your tea. We need to leave in half an hour."

Another groan. "Fine." John accepted the cup and took a sip. "Mrs. Hudson made us breakfast, didn't she."

"Yes. Lestrade has been stuffing himself with pastries since he got up. Come on, John." 

John dragged himself out of bed after another sip or two of tea and pulled on the jeans from last night to make the trek upstairs for clean clothes. He was not going anywhere without a proper shower and breakfast. He knew he could pull the first off but he would need to hurry to accomplish the second.

Greg called a good morning from the kitchen when John exited the bathroom, freshly showered and shaved. John grabbed a pastry and poured himself a second cup of tea. He knew that lunch would probably be out of the question so food and caffeine were paramount at the moment. "Has he told you anything about what we're doing today?"

"Not a word. He shushed me when I tried to ask, told me to be quiet and not wake you." Greg chuckled then took a final gulp of tea. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Let's get this over with."

Sherlock was waiting for them and handed over John's jacket. "A member of my network may have seen something. Suspicious movement a few blocks from here. The usual forbidding black vans in the middle of the night. Perfect for moving any sort of equipment. He also saw someone that may have been Sherrinford. I've spoken to Mycroft and he has insisted on sending a few agents with us to investigate."

"At least we'll have some sort of back up." John was relieved that Sherlock was still accepting Mycroft's help with the investigative side and not running off to take a look like he would have a few years ago. Sherrinford had spooked him. Clattering down the steps, they said their goodbyes to Mrs. Hudson and climbed into the waiting car.

\--

Ford watched as the three men exited Baker Street. He had observed the exchange in the sitting room and knew that his diversion had been successful. He had allowed himself to be spotted last night to get Sherlock away from Baker Street with the intention of taking over one of the facing flats. There was an empty one just down the street that was perfect. The vans had been for flair. All of the equipment he needed fit into a briefcase. With his suitcase and computer bag, he looked like any other man headed to spend the weekend with friends or family.

The lock was easy. The furnished but vacant flat would do nicely. He quickly unpacked his computer onto the kitchen table and sent off a few texts while it booted up. Irene had got him to London and he was pleased to find that some of his previous contacts were still viable. He used them when possible and had only taken advantage of Irene's for the original flat and the vans used in the previous night's subterfuge. He didn't trust the soft spot that she held for his brother and used her resources sparingly. If she was reporting to Sherlock, it would only reinforce the lie.

Donning a dreadful jacket with a sports logo and cap over his plain t shirt and jeans, Ford made sure that his sunglasses were in the front pocket. He put them on when he hit the pavement and crossed the street. He was hungry and this Speedy's place looked like he could at least get a decent cup of coffee there. He took a seat at one of the tables inside to wait. 

It wasn't long before the awaited text came in. Perfect. A driver that he had worked with before had been able to find the same kind of car that Mycroft always used. Of course it was pricy, but he would just be borrowing it for a bit. Now to wait. Timing would be everything and he wanted to have a word with Sherlock's Doctor Watson.

\--

The lead turned out to be a dead end after all. Sherlock had questioned the messenger that had sent them over there until the poor man had just shut down and refused to say another word. There was no doubt that he had seen Sherrinford, but there was no sign of him now. John apologized to the man and slipped him fifty quid to try to make up for the temper tantrum. Sherlock had stomped off and was having a very heated discussion with Mycroft that involved much hand waving.

Greg had begged off to go back to his flat to grab some things under the eye of one of the agents. He promised to be back at 221B within the next few hours but John expected him to drag his feet to avoid having to deal with a certain stroppy bastard. The said stroppy bastard hung up with a vicious poke at his mobile and stalked over to the remaining car to get in without another word. 

"I guess we're done here," John said to anyone that was paying attention, wondering if he and Greg could stay with Mrs. Hudson. He was sure that she wouldn't mind. Not at all. Well, might as well go and face the dragon. He got in the car.

"At least it was a confirmed sighting. That's at least something to go on with." Nothing.

"We'll just have to keep looking. Between you and Mycroft, something else will come up." Eye roll.

John gave up and stared out the window.

\--

The next few days passed with Sherlock getting increasingly frantic. He couldn't find anything to lead him to Sherrinford. There had been no other sightings. Absolutely nothing. He was driving himself and John mad.

It didn't help matters that part of the reason that he was so motivated to end this case was his desire to get past this and start his life with John. He had wanted and waited for so long, it wasn't fair that this obstacle was proving to be impossible to get around. Not fair. He sounded like a petulant child, and that just made him angry at himself. Round and round he went. 

The fact that John was sleeping in his bed every night, regardless of whether Lestrade stayed over or not, was also a huge source of frustration. He wanted nothing more than to go in there and curl himself around John and wallow in the warmth and comfort there for the taking. But that would be too large a distraction. He couldn't allow himself the indulgence so when he slept, he took brief naps on the sofa. He had not voiced any of this to John, but he was certain that he would understand.

\--

A quick trip to Tesco. That was just what John needed right now, before he either strangled Sherlock or dragged him off to bed. Neither was a good choice at the moment taking into consideration the threat that they were under. Sherrinford was proving to be the expected thorn in their sides. Besides they were out of Hobnobs.

Nothing. They still had nothing. The row that had just erupted in the flat was proof that one or both needed to vacate just for a bit. Sherlock was terrified of what Sherrinford was planning and since he processed those emotions in the most irrational way possible, he had ensconced himself on the sofa in the darkest mood that John had ever seen. He oscillated between stone silence and frenetic pacing, with the addition of ripping anyone near him to shreds. John had been the lucky recipient of this morning’s tirade and had decided that enough was enough. 

When he grabbed his jacket from its hook, he was startled when a warm body attached itself to him, winding long arms around his chest and waist. He stopped and waited to see what Sherlock would do. He had been so standoffish the last few days. John knew that he was focusing everything on the case, but it was the most frustrating way in the world to start out with someone.

"Don't go.” Sherlock's voice was muffled slightly from pressing his face into John's neck, but he could hear the panicky undertone. 

He sighed and gripped the forearm across his chest. “We can't stay here forever. We won't have to worry about anyone else because we’ll murder each other. I need to get out for a bit. I'll be fine.”

“Of course you'll be fine. Why on earth wouldn't you be fine?” The snarky tone was betrayed by the tightening of the embrace. “I don't have to like it.”

John smiled at the petulant tone. He didn’t have to look to know that that full bottom lip would be pushed out in a slight pout. It was ridiculous and adorable. He wasn't sure that Sherlock even realized that he did it. “I'll be back in an hour.” He gently removed the hands holding him close and shrugged on his jacket. Sherlock acknowledged his resolve to leave the flat by flinging himself on the sofa again, curling in tightly with his back to the room. Still smiling, John ran a hand through the mop of curls and pressed a kiss to the top of the now sulking head. “One hour.”

He never made it to the Tesco. Two blocks from the flat a black car appeared and silently glided alongside until John stopped dead in the middle of the pavement. What the hell could Mycroft possibly want now? Opening the door, he slid inside. “You know there are these things called mobiles…” He trailed off. That was not Mycroft.

He instinctively reached for the door handle as the locks clicked into place. The man facing him was slim with dark hair that had the potential for curls if it were not slicked back from his high forehead. He was impeccably dressed and painfully reminiscent of Sherlock. John knew immediately into whose trap he had stepped. “Sherrinford.”

“Doctor Watson. Such a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, cliffhanger! Sorry! Next chapter will be up tomorrow, promise.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now to start earning the explicit tag...

Chapter 13

"Can't say I feel the same." John ignored him to focus on the door. Damn automatic locks. It looked like the car had been kitted out like a panda car, with no lock release on the inside. He sat back with a sigh. This was bad. Very bad. And stupid. So, so stupid. He would never hear the end of this. He blamed Mycroft Holmes with his fucking black cars and his fucking mysterious warehouses. 

Ford grinned at him, delighted at his discomfort. "Now, now, Doctor Watson, no need for hysterics. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to chat. For now."

Christ, he was frightening. The words were pleasant enough but his eyes told a different story. In tandem with the eyes, the grin turned manic instead of friendly and the tone fell flat. John was barely able to suppress a shudder at the thought of a young Sherlock being influenced by this monster. Sherlock called himself a sociopath, but anyone that looked into Sherrinford Holmes' eyes would know that it wasn't true. Sherlock held too much compassion for the small circle of people he cared about for that to be a remote possibility. Sherrinford was the real deal. And John was currently trapped in a car with him. Fantastic.

"So talk. I'm not going anywhere apparently." John struggled to keep his voice even. Any moment now Sherlock would send him an inane text to pick up something silly, which was his way of apologizing for being an arse, and when John didn't respond, he would go on high alert. They both knew about the cameras that covered the front door and he would be on the phone to Mycroft within minutes. It would be fine.

"I see why he likes you. Such sass." Ford's grin had gone down a watt or two and was now just mildly amused. "Let's not talk about Sherlock just yet. I'd like to discuss your lovely wife or is it soon to be ex-wife now that you're buggering my brother?"

John chose to ignore the jibe. He knew that Sherrinford was just trying to get a rise out of him. There was the buzz of the phone in his pocket. He needed to be cautious and just keep him talking. "Fine. Let's talk about Mary. Or I suppose she's Sasha to you." 

"Figured that out, did you? So clever." Ford brought his fingertips up to his lips, a perfect echo of Sherlock. "Yes, Sasha was so very useful, but she forgot her place. Charles made her panic and she lost her head. And then she tried to eliminate her competition and her problem in one fell swoop." A sweep of his fine-boned hand accompanied the statement. "I wouldn't have cared, wouldn't even be here if it had been anyone else. But Sherlock is special. I taught him everything he knows, did he tell you that?"

"Yeah. He's told me loads about what you taught him." John spat out, unable to hide his contempt. "Are you through talking bollocks? Because I'd really like to get to the point here."

"Impatient and rude. Yes, I see exactly why he likes you. No, Doctor Watson, this little visit serves two purposes." One slim finger jabbed into the air. "I wanted to lay eyes on you myself. You're a puzzle that I can't quite solve. You've captured the attention of a far greater man than yourself and I can't put my finger on how or why. Sherlock was never this weak. I don't know what you've done to him." Ford raised the second finger. "The sheer fact that I was able to take you right out from under his nose will turn him inside out. I know that he's already texted you and is currently contacting Mycroft with orders to find you. When Mycroft is unable to do so, Sherlock will be furious and reluctant to listen to him in the future. So you see, Doctor Watson, our little chat has been quite fruitful."

The car pulled to a stop and John saw the front door of 221B just outside the window. The doors unlocked with a clunk. 

"Off you go." 

A wave of a hand dismissed him and John restrained the temptation to tear open the door and tumble out. 

\--

He could hear Sherlock before he made it up the stairs. As Sherrinford had predicted, he was yelling through the phone at Mycroft. 

"If it wasn't your bloody car, then whose was it Mycroft? This is all your fault, you and your stupid dramatics. If anything happens to him..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as John entered the sitting room. "He's back." He rang off.

"I'm fine. It was Sherrinford. He just took me around the block so that he could be scary and then dropped me back off. I'm fine." John held up his hands, ready for the onslaught of scorn at his stupidity for getting in the sodding car in the first place.

Instead he was almost bowled over when Sherlock flung himself bodily at him. He was wrapped up in long arms before he could blink with Sherlock burying his face in his neck. "Oh god, John. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I made you leave. If he had hurt you..."

John held him tightly and ran his fingers through his hair to soothe. "Shh. I'm fine. It wasn't your fault. I was stupid for getting in that car in the first place." He pressed kisses into the parts of Sherlock's face that he could reach and they just leaned into each other. 

It seemed like ages, but it couldn't have been more than a minute or two before Sherlock finally raised his head. He pressed his lips to John's temple and just held them there, breathing him in with his eyes closed. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Freaked out a little, but perfectly fine." John closed his eyes as well, soaking up Sherlock's warmth. Sherrinford had frightened him and he was so relieved to be back in Sherlock's arms that he felt almost weepy. He reached up on tiptoes and started placing small kisses to Sherlock's jaw. He could feel the slight stubble that proved that Sherlock was so out of sorts that he hadn't even bothered to shave. This ordeal was going to tear him apart.

He continued the kisses until he got to Sherlock's ear, relishing the small murmurs of appreciation that he was getting. "Let's go to bed."

Sherlock looked down at him. John expected him to pull away and tell him that they had too much work to do. That now was not the time. But all he said was, "I could have lost you." And then dipped his head down for a searing kiss. 

It was open mouthed and hot and had purpose. John wasn't sure how they managed to get down the hall to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, but all of sudden there they were. Sherlock kicked the door closed, continuing to nudge John towards the bed until it hit the back of his knees forcing him to sit down. Sherlock kept pushing, helping John to slide up onto the bed so that he could crawl on top of him.

John gasped as the weight pressed him down into the bed and Sherlock began to suck wet kisses down his neck. He pushed at the dressing gown that Sherlock was still wearing because he had refused to get out of pajamas. "Off. Take this off." 

Sherlock rose to his knees, shrugging out of the confining fabric and flung it off the side of the bed. He grabbed the hem of his t shirt and gave John a pointed look. "You too. All of it."

John gaped at the mad, gorgeous creature that was ordering him out of his clothes. His shock was short lived and he started unbuttoning his jacket that he was still wearing. This was not working. "Budge up. This will go faster if I can stand up."

Sherlock scrambled off the other side of the bed, bare chest heaving. John stared at him again from across the bed this time, taking in the sight. "John, I swear I will let you look your fill at any other time but right now I need you get undressed. Clothes off. Now."

John jumped. "Right." He had already struggled out of his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt. He was toeing off his shoes and fumbling with his belt when he looked up just in time to catch the hungry look on Sherlock's face. They locked eyes and John frantically tore open his jeans, pushing them down. He almost fell over taking off his socks and his elbow was caught by Sherlock who had also stripped down to his pants.

Sherlock righted him and then reeled him in for another kiss. They fell to the bed together in a tangle of limbs, ending with Sherlock on top. He settled himself in and started sucking kisses down John's throat, pulling a groan out of him. 

John's hands slid down Sherlock's back and worked their way under the elastic of his pants, taking a firm grip of his arse. "I can't even begin to tell you how much I've wanted to do that." John ground his hips up against Sherlock's, feeling their erections line up together through the thin fabric. They both groaned at the contact. 

Sherlock raised up quickly, wriggling out of his pants and then helped John finish removing his. They were finally bare and pressed together, knee to nose. It was glorious. 

Sherlock ground down as he felt John's hands return to his now naked arse, pulling them together. The friction was heavenly, but it wasn't quite enough. He freed one of his hands from where it was tucked under John's shoulder and licked a stripe down his palm. Lifting up, he took them both in his hand forming a loose ring that he could thrust into. "This is not going to last very long." he gritted out, trying to slow his hips to draw it out. He was quickly losing control and the sounds that he was pulling out of John were not helping. 

John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's hips, encouraging him to quicken his pace. "It's ok love, come on. Come on." He could see Sherlock start to fall apart and it had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Sherlock heard the change in John's breathing and couldn't help it. He could feel his orgasm coiling in his spine and gasped out "Close?" He wanted to make this good for John, but he was barely hanging on. John came with a long groan that might have contained Sherlock's name. The feeling of John's twitching cock dragged Sherlock right behind him. 

They both lay there panting, come smeared on both of their stomachs. Sherlock rolled over onto his back, feeling sated and more relaxed than he had been in years. John propped himself up on one elbow and ran his hand through Sherlock's sweat damp curls. "I'm always going to be the one to get the flannel, aren't I?" 

Sherlock closed his eyes, still panting, and grinned. "Possibly. I can't feel my legs at the moment."

John kissed his forehead and rolled out of bed. He cleaned himself up in the bathroom, catching his own silly grin in the mirror. He gently cleaned Sherlock's stomach and then got him to budge up so that he could pull the duvet out from under him. He pulled it up over him and then went in search of his phone.

"What on earth are you doing?" Sherlock was already on the verge of sleep.

"I am looking for my mobile to call your git of a brother before he comes looking for us. You, on the other hand, are going to go to sleep. I know you've been up for practically three days straight." John retrieved the dressing gown from where it had been flung and pulled it on. 

"I napped!"

"Cat naps on the sofa don't count. I'll be back in a few. I'm going to report in to Mycroft and lock up."

"Acceptable." 

\--

Mycroft listened carefully as John recounted his encounter with Sherrinford. It was unsurprising that he had made such a move, it was his style after all. And it had sent Sherlock into a tailspin of emotion, which was the entire point. The one thing that Sherrinford had discounted out of hand, however, was John's calming influence on his brother. It was to their advantage that he was working with inaccurate data. Sherlock had changed tremendously since he had last seen Sherrinford. He was no longer the easily-led burgeoning junkie that had been left behind. 

"And that is all that was said? You're sure?" Mycroft glanced up as Mary entered the office that was his current base of operations at the safehouse. He waved her to a chair.

"Yeah. I sent out some messages to Sherlock's contacts that I know and I'm sure he'll send some more when he gets up. We will let you know if we hear anything." 

When he gets up? "I will be sure to do the same. Is there any chance of speaking with my brother?" Mycroft was fishing now.

"Not for at least a few hours. He's been pushing himself way too hard and needs sleep." John was already tired of this line of conversation and just wanted to go back to bed.

"Congratulations on finding a suitable soporific, then. I will be expecting his call." Mycroft rang off, turning his attention back to Mary who had been waiting patiently. "Did you need something?"

"What happened?" 

“Sherrinford is playing a game. He made contact with Dr. Watson with the intent to unsettle Sherlock. He failed.” Mycroft was not surprised that Mary had picked up on the situation. She was, under the unassuming exterior, still a proficient agent and assassin. “Surely you didn’t come in here just for that?”

Mary had kept to herself for the most part during her house arrest. She had either haunted the library or stayed in her room. For her to seek out Mycroft especially was unusual. “No. Not just for that.” She had eased herself into a chair at Mycroft’s invitation but still looked uncomfortable.

Mycroft laced his fingers together on the desk in front of him and assumed a patient air. He had a feeling that she had been thinking over their agreement and had been expecting this conversation.

“I need some assurances from you.” She held up her hand to avoid any interruptions. “I’m not changing my mind, no worries about that. I have no choice and no recourse. I need to know that she will be taken care of.”

“You have no intention of coming back.” The inflection was flat and without accusation.

“Wrong. Where I am going and what I will be doing dictates a certain amount of danger. I’m no fool, Mycroft. I know that there is little chance that I will survive this assignment. Six months. That’s what you told Sherlock. He says that you are rarely wrong.” She kept her voice even. It was important that she keep her composure or the weight of it all would bring her crashing down. She couldn’t afford that kind of weakness now, not in front of Mycroft Holmes.

“That is what I told him, true. He did not have possession of all of the facts.” A small smile.

“You were going to pull him out. The whole thing was a ruse. I should have known.” A shake of the head. “Big brother to the rescue yet again.” A tilt of the head. “Not now though. This is the real assignment. I’m going in to do what you wouldn’t allow your baby brother to do. That’s just wonderful.”

“I must admit, you did provide a convenient solution.” Eyes hard now. “It is suitable atonement for your transgressions.”

“Wow. It’s just killing you that I was able to hide under your nose for so long isn’t it.” A harsh laugh. “Did you figure it out before Sherlock told you? No? I’ll bet he loved that.”

“That is not the point. You are here to discuss the future of your child. You are worried about her being exposed to my brother and want to ensure her welfare.” A wry sniff of disdain. “I assure you that she will be well taken care of. Her father is more than capable and Sherlock has already begun to make accommodations.” 

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. I want to make sure that she will be protected if I’m not there. John can take care of himself, but he was blind to what I am and I don’t want that taken advantage of. I have enemies and they will use her against me if I’m still alive.” She tried very hard not to sound pleading. This would be the final gift that she could give her unborn child and she was determined to get it right. “Please.”

Mycroft seemed unsurprised at this request. “Of course. You needn’t have asked.”

Relief filled her. “Thank you.” She rose from the chair with some difficulty. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. Things got out of hand very quickly.”

He gave her a stiff nod. “That may be true, but it does not excuse your actions. Please let me know if you have any other requests.” 

She was dismissed.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"What time is it?" 

Sherlock's voice was muffled, face mashed into the pillow. John had returned to bed to find him wrapped around said pillow, practically asleep. After much prodding he had relinquished it to allow John to take its place and they had taken a much needed rest. 

"Half eight. Time to get up." John had set his alarm so they could get three hours sleep and they still had a long night ahead of them. 

Sherlock groaned and tightened the possessive arm he had thrown over John's chest. For once in his life, he had no desire to jump back into the game. He would be happy to stay right there for days. "You have made me lazy."

John chuckled. "You've been a lazy git since the day I met you. Not pinning that one on me."

Sherlock huffed. "Fine. You have made me more lazy." He glared halfheartedly from under sleep flattened curls. It would have been more effective without the quirk of a smile.

John leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. This produced an even bigger grin. John wished that he could capture the simple joy that he saw there and keep it forever. They probably wouldn't get another moment like this for some time.

Sherlock slid his hand to the back of John's neck and pulled him down for a kiss. After a few moments he pulled back and then rested his forehead against John's temple. "You," he breathed. "It's always been you."

John felt sudden tears prickling his eyes. He cleared his throat to cover and blinked several times. "I know."

Sherlock pressed his lips to his forehead and rolled over, throwing the duvet aside as he got up. "No time to waste!" 

John shook his head fondly, admiring Sherlock's bare arse as he headed to the bathroom to shower.

\--

Freshly showered and fully dressed, Sherlock was pacing the sitting room checking in with his network when John emerged from the kitchen. "Greg is on his way here. Mycroft evidently gave him the heads up that he might want to take his time picking up his stuff." 

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, eyes on his mobile. He accepted the tea John placed in his hand, but put it down on the table without taking a sip. "Tell me again what he said to you."

They had been over the very short encounter several times already. "I told you. He was just trying to get under your skin. We are not going to let him." John stopped the pacing by putting a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He picked the tea up and put it back in his hand. "Drink that."

A placating sip taken, the mug was returned to the table.

\--

Ford watched Sherlock pace on the computer screen. He wished for the thousandth time that the feed included audio, but that was evidently one step too far even for Mycroft. He wouldn’t want to be too intrusive, after all. 

He was pleased that his little chat with the doctor had seemed to work. Sherlock was agitated and he had witnessed at least one phone call that was comprised mostly of shouting. That would be Mycroft then. He was surprised that the elder Holmes had not taken it upon himself to impose upon Baker Street yet. He knew that Mycroft had been at the country house and he had a sneaking suspicion that Sasha had been spirited away there as well. It didn’t require genius to figure that out.

The baby was due in approximately four weeks according to the medical records that he had acquired. A nurse at the clinic was easily bribed for the information and then he made her disappear. No need to leave anything to chance this late in the game. There was no chance of Mycroft allowing her to go to a standard public hospital, so the only alternative would be the private hospital that had been used by the Holmes family and other persons of note for years. It was renowned for its secrecy and discretion. 

He had a few weeks. Time to start setting up a contact at the hospital in preparation for the big event.

\--

Mary awoke in the middle of the night, covered in sweat. This was not right. She was a nurse, goddammit, she should know the signs of labour. She had been having back pain all evening but had just chalked it up to stress and normal symptoms.

It was too early. She wasn’t due for four more weeks. Logically she knew that the baby would most likely be fine, but that didn’t stifle the wave of panic that washed over her. First things first, get up. She had perfected the roll out of bed technique. She had no choice without someone there to help. 

Staggering to her feet, another contraction hit. She breathed through it, cursing herself for not marking the time. She would do that with the next one. Time to move. She pulled some comfortable bottoms on and glared at her shoes. Mycroft had a small staff here. She hated it, but she needed some help and she would rather it be one of them than alerting the man himself just yet.

This was something that they should have already discussed but hadn’t got around to it. She supposed that he already had a plan in place but hadn’t deemed it necessary to share it with her. She made it to the door before another one hit. The intensity wasn’t there just yet. She was able to breathe through it easily, but it wouldn’t take long and they needed to be on their way before that happened. On their way where, she had no idea.

She pushed the small button on the intercom system and told the voice that answered that she needed someone there immediately. Within moments, she heard footsteps and sighed in relief. She hated the feeling of needing someone. That didn't matter now, she had no choice. Never a choice anymore.

The woman that appeared took one look at her and told the man that followed her to get Mr. Holmes. Now. She took Mary's arm and eased her into a chair in the hallway. "Ms. Morstan, we will have a car ready momentarily. Mr. Holmes should be here soon."

"I suppose you've already had a drill for this?" Mary tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. Ok. They were getting a bit stronger now.

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Holmes insisted that we plan for every eventuality." She knelt down in front of Mary and was looking at her in concern. "Just a few more minutes and everything should be in place to transport you to the medical facility."

At that moment, Mycroft appeared and the woman rose swiftly to her feet. "Mr. Holmes, the car is being brought around now."

"Of course. Thank you." He looked at Mary with wary eyes. This was not something with which he was comfortable. The things he did for Sherlock. "Please retrieve Ms. Morstan's bag. I will assist her to the car."

The woman gaped at him for a moment and then did as ordered. He took Mary's elbow and helped her to her feet. At that moment, a stronger contraction hit and she hissed in a breath. "Are you alright?" 

Mary looked at him and almost laughed regardless of the pain. He looked absolutely panicked. His panic helped to get her own under control. She breathed through the contraction and straightened back up. "Fine now, but I think we need to head to the car, yeah?" 

He nodded and then seemed to pull himself back together. They exited the house with the agent on their heels and got into the car without further incident.

\--

John's phone rang as he was just starting to feel his lack of sleep again. He was sitting in his chair valiantly trying to keep up with what Sherlock was talking about and failing miserably. Greg had given up about an hour ago and had gone to bed upstairs. He wrestled the mobile out of his pocket and looked at the screen. Mycroft.

“Mycroft?”

“John. Mary has gone into labor.”

“What?” He heard muffled words and then Mary came on the line.

“For god’s sake, you are useless. John? I’m fine, the baby is fine. Mycroft is freaking out.” He heard Mycroft say, “I am not freaking out!” in the background. “We are on our way to this poncy private hospital that Sherlock knows about.” She was very careful not to say the address, just in case. “Get the address out of him and you might want to join us. It seems the little one is ready to make her appearance.”

John was silent. A thousand thoughts were flying through his head. She was early. Only four weeks but still early. The doctor in him was automatically going over what could go wrong. He realized that he’d gone silent and she was still talking. “I’m sorry. What?”

He could practically hear the eye roll over the phone. “We are on our way to hospital. Tell Sherlock. Meet us there. Baby imminent.” She sighed. “I know you want to be there and this is not the way that we talked about it, but we make do with what we’re given, yeah? It’ll be fine. Now go.” She hung up.

Sherlock had stopped talking when he had noticed the expression on John’s face. “Mary?”

“Yeah. Mycroft is taking her to a hospital that she said that you would know about.” John grabbed his shoes, sitting in his chair to get ready to go. “Give me the address and I’ll head over there. I’ve sent for the car.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, not understanding. “Do you not wish me to go?”

Now it was John’s turn to stare. “I just assumed that you’d want to keep working. Case, remember? It’s fine if you want to go. I’d appreciate that, in fact.”

“This is important, John. Of course I want to go.” He shrugged out of the dressing gown that he had been wearing over shirt and trousers and pulled on his jacket. He hesitated after buttoning it. "I am unsure as to what would be an appropriate gesture at this time. I have not had time to prepare."

“Gesture?” John pulled on his jacket and turned to face him, handing him the Belstaff and scarf.

Sherlock looked as if he regretted saying anything. He tried to cover the pink flooding his cheeks by putting on his coat and scarf, but John wasn’t fooled. He decided to let it go for now.

John sent Greg a text so that he would know where they were as they clattered down the steps and out to the car. The advantage of secrecy worked against them in this case, because it would take about an hour to get to the hospital. John settled into the leather seat, readying himself for the wait.

“I wish to make a good first impression,” Sherlock blurted out, startling John from his thoughts. He barreled on before John could respond, staring straight ahead. “I realize that newborns, cognitively, are not capable of determining personality or any other such factor but a certain bond may be formed very early on. I understand that I am not a parental figure, or in fact, do not hold any legal or social tie to your child, but I find that I would very much appreciate the opportunity to serve in any capacity that is needed.” 

He took a breath as if to continue. John stopped him by placing fingers on his jaw to gently guide him to meet eyes that were soft and warm. “You want her to like you.” He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to lips that had tightened in uncertainty. “You nutter. She’s going to love you.”

\--

Ford watched as Sherlock and John rushed out the front door and jumped into the waiting car. Where the hell were they going? He had seen Watson receive a call, but there was no way of knowing who it was. He scrubbed his hands through his hair in frustration. He had watched the footage when Watson had returned after their chat, but had no idea to what extent it had affected Sherlock. He was thankful that they had made it to the bedroom as he had no desire to watch them shagging on the sofa.

He sent a text to his contact at the safe house. It wasn't difficult to infiltrate the staff with one of his people. Mycroft was slipping. His phone buzzed. Ah. So Sasha was about ready to whelp. How inconvenient. 

He rose from the desk and began to pace. What to do, what to do? It was far too early for his original plan to place an informant in the hospital. He would have to improvise.

\--

They finally arrived at the hospital to find Mary safely checked in and monitored. Mycroft had sent the room number ahead so they were able to go there right away. John paused just before they reached the door. Mycroft was waiting there for them. “You might want to let me go in first.”

Sherlock nodded and watched as John tapped on the door and then entered. He was completely out of his element. He had no clue what he was meant to do. What was the protocol for this type of situation? How did one act when one’s partner-- Were they partners? It seemed like something that they should discuss but they had not got around to it. Did they need to discuss it? He wanted to ask John. No. Couldn’t ask John right now, he was with Mary. Did Mary want John here? Of course she did. She told him on the phone to come. And John wanted him here even though he was surprised when he offered. Why was he surprised? Of course he wanted to be here. If he was back at Baker Street he would not be able to concentrate without John there. The last time John left his sight, Sherrinford took him. Therefore Sherlock had to be wherever John was. It was the only way that he could keep him safe.

Sherrinford’s ultimate target was Mary. Mary and the baby. The baby and John. He was failing them all. He can’t find Sherrinford. If he couldn’t find Sherrinford, he would surely find them and he would hurt them. It would be all his fault. All his fault.

He was startled when a gentle hand untangled his fingers from his own hair where he had been restlessly tugging. He blinked. John. John had been saying his name and he didn’t hear him. Sherlock was still standing in the same place where John left him in the hall, Mycroft was looking at him curiously.

“What is racing through that giant brain of yours? I can tell by your face it’s not good.” John was holding his hand. Sherlock looked at their hands as if he wasn’t quite sure how they got there.

“What did Mary say? How is she?” He wasn't sure if he was asking about Mary or the baby.

"They are both fine. Thirty-six weeks is considered full term and there should not be any complications." 

Sherlock gave him a tight nod. "That's good. That's very good." He still had questions and probabilities running through his head, but he didn't want to burden John with them at this time.

"She asked to see you." John looked at him carefully. "Is that alright?"

"Of course." He gestured toward the door. "Should I...?"

"Get in here, Sherlock." Mary's voice from the other side of the door. She must have been able to hear them. "Please?"

"Go on. I'll be out here." John leaned against the wall opposite the door to wait.

\--

Sherlock entered the room, back straight, walking in to the unknown. He wasn't sure what Mary could possibly have to say to him. John had not told him much about what was said at Mycroft's and they had been busy trying to track down Sherrinford after all. He wondered if she knew. He caught her gaze from the bed and that confirmed it. She knew.

His eyes flicked over the monitors as he picked up the chart where it lay on the table. "How are you?" He grimaced. It sounded so stilted and unsure. He needed to be more confident.

"We're fine. As you already know because you see everything." She looked tired. It was the middle of the night and labor was exhausting. "I suppose you wondered why I wanted to talk."

He nodded. He took off the Belstaff and draped over one of the chairs. Unbuttoning his jacket, he slid the other chair next to bed and sat down. "What did you want to discuss?"

She laughed. She couldn't help it. They were dancing around this still. They had always been dancing around this and now they were finally going to clear the air. And she was lying in a hospital bed to do it. Fantastic. "I know about you and John. He told me."

He wasn't surprised that she knew but he was surprised that John had been the one to confirm it. He prided himself on keeping his usual calm demeanor. "I see."

"I see? You see. That's what you're going to say, of course that's what you'd say. I need to know how long, Sherlock. Remember, I can tell when you're fibbing."

He thought for a moment. "For John, it was clear to him after you shot me. For me, since the day I made his acquaintance."

It was her turn to be surprised. She had expected him to be blunt but this was something else. A nod. "I see." She choked out a laugh at her word choice. "Uh, hold on. Contraction." She breathed short huffs of air until it had lessened. She looked at Sherlock and he had paled, eyes wide. "Sherlock?"

He shook himself. "I've researched childbirth and labor for cases and, of course, for this," he waved his hand, "But I have never witnessed the process. I apologize. Please continue."

"Where was I? Oh yes. You’re promising me that nothing ever happened before that night in Magnussen's office? I need to know for sure." He nodded. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with a sadness that hadn't been there before. "I made a choice and it may have been the wrong one or it may have been the right one. I think we would have always ended up here." 

"I don't know." Sherlock looked at his hands. "It is extraordinarily selfish of me to be grateful for a bullet, but I am. You did what you thought you had to do. I have done the same and we have both hurt John terribly. You saved him, no matter what the reasons were. I will save him now."

She felt tears form. Dammit. She had sworn to herself that she would be cold and firm, but her resolve was crumbling. "Promise me. Promise me that you will keep them safe. You know where I'm going and what will happen there. Keep Ford as far away from them as possible. You of all people know what he is capable of."

He took her small hand in his, careful of the IV. "I will keep them safe. I swear." With a final pat, he rose and gathered his coat, carefully folding it over his arm. 

\--

“You don’t have to stay here you know.”

Mycroft looked at John in surprise. He had been lost in his own thoughts and had not realized that John had walked over to him. “I would prefer to oversee the security myself at this critical time, so it is no bother.”

“That’s..fine. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t staying because of some sense of familial obligation or anything.” John’s eyes twinkled. “Or concern.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Please relieve yourself of that notion, John. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” He opened his mouth to say something else and then closed it, looking at the door to Mary’s room. “I do not wish to pry, but are you quite certain about all this?”

“All this? Which part, Mycroft?” John’s face hardened. He’d been ready for this question for a while. It was surprising that they hadn’t got around to it yet. “Sherlock? Most definitely. Raising a child with him? Getting used to the idea. Prying is what you do, why don’t you ask him?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the outburst. “If I thought it would accomplish anything, I would.” He looked at the floor. “I worry about him, you know. And I worry that he is so desperate to ensure your happiness that he will sacrifice his own, no matter the cost. After all, he gave his life for yours once already. What will he do to keep you?”

“I don’t know. He’s building a lab to make the flat safe for the baby and he says that he wants this and he says that he wants me, but I just don’t know. I love him. Christ, I haven’t even told him that yet.” John scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’ve talked about it a bit, but with Sherrinford hanging over our heads it really hasn’t been the priority it should be. We’re both horrible about talking about this stuff.” He sighed. “Why am I talking to you about this again?”

Mycroft ignored the question. “The sooner the better. We have all possible resources focused on finding Sherrinford, unfortunately he is proving more difficult to locate than originally thought.”

They both turned at the sound of the door. Sherlock walked over to them, coat over his arm. "She's resting now."

John studied him, trying to get an idea of what they had talked about. Sherlock was pulling the blank face routine again so that means it was something upsetting or emotional. He didn't seem angry, but he was so damn good at hiding his feelings that it was impossible to tell.

"So now we wait. I'll go in there in a bit to check on her. The doctor said that it shouldn't be too much longer, but first time pregnancies can be unpredictable." John was proud of himself for being calm. Mycroft's questioning had stirred up things that he had been putting off for far too long. They needed to have a serious talk and soon.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It was time. 

Mary had been a professional assassin. She had been involved in firefights where she felt more in control than she did at this moment. Her body had gone into autopilot with the sole purpose of giving birth. It was the most unnerving sensation that she could ever remember feeling.

She was grateful for John’s steadying presence, even though he was not there in the role that he could have been. He was good in a tense situation and was a calming force to keep the panic at bay. 

Sherlock was even on his best behavior. She had surprised them all, Mycroft included, when she told John that it would be ok for Sherlock to be in the room if he wanted to be. She had laid down some strict rules that were to be followed exactly or he would be evicted. He had to stay at the head of the bed because as she had said, “You are not seeing my bits, I don’t care how interested you are in the process!” He also had to be quiet and not interfere with any of the staff. He was to take notes and ask questions later.

She was glad of the last rule because after catching a glimpse of him over John’s shoulder, she could see that he was practically vibrating with the need to question or comment or just do anything. He was furiously scribbling in that little notebook he always carried and she knew that there would be a barrage of questions later.

Focus. 

Breathe.

It seemed like an eternity passed before the doctor told her to stop pushing. The head was out. And then sweet relief. The pain was gone and the euphoria kicked in. She heard the cries of her daughter that proved that she was alive and breathing. They put this small squirming creature on her chest and she just looked at her with dark blue eyes. She was here. She was real. She loved her so much.

She saw John peering down at them with tears streaming down his face and she smiled. It was beautiful and sad and wrong but she couldn't change that. Not now, not ever. She looked past John to see Sherlock still hovering in the corner, eyes wide, notebook hanging from his fingers, forgotten. He only had eyes for this spectacular person that hadn't existed outside until moments before.

The nurse took the baby away. "Just two minutes, dear. We'll get her cleaned up in just a moment." Mary knew that they needed to just do a preliminary clean up and some basic tests, but that didn't make her any less reluctant to let her child out of her sight. They also were doing some checks on Mary but she paid them no mind. 

"John? Stay with her."

He moved to follow the nurse. They were only going to the other side of the room where the rolling warmer was set up already. She watched as they weighed, measured and listened. Then the baby was wrapped up in a blanket and they placed her back in Mary's arms. It was amazing.

Mary saw John still standing, hands behind his back, as if unsure of what he should be doing. After all, this was not the most conventional of circumstances. The assassin mother, due to be sent on a mission in a few short months, in the same room as the soon to be ex-husband/single father and his lover. She barked out a laugh that sounded almost like a sob.

"Aren't we the most dysfunctional bunch you've ever seen, little one?" The tiny face turned up at the sound of her voice, blinking. "Hi, I'm your mum. That guy over there, the one that looks like he's fidgeting outside the loo, that's your dad." She paused. "And that tall, broody one in the corner, that's your, well, I guess that's your Sherlock. Suppose you should get used to dysfunction." She kissed the small nose and breathed in the scent of the newly born.

"John, come here and hold your daughter." It was worded as a command to get his feet moving. He quickly took his place at the side of the bed and she placed the baby in his arms.

"Hello there." He copied what Mary had done and kissed the small nose. "What shall your name be?"

"I thought we could name her Willa Grace." Mary spoke from where she had slumped back to the bed in exhaustion. "What do you think?"

John met her eyes, still flickering between the joy of finally holding his child in his arms and the sadness of what had brought them to this crossroads. "I think that will do nicely. Willa Grace Watson, that's who you are. Pleased to meet you."

Mary watched him as he unconsciously swayed where he stood, rocking the little girl. Movement caught her eye and she saw Sherlock, still in his corner, afraid to move in case he was banished from the room. She tiredly rolled her eyes. "For god's sake, Sherlock, go over there and see her. Go on."

He glanced at her and then back at John. John nodded with a smile and Sherlock stepped over to him. He had shed his jacket hours before and his shirt sleeves were neatly folded up to his elbows. He leaned over John's shoulder to get a closer look at the infant in his arms.

"Would you like to hold her?" 

"Are you sure? I've never..." He held his arms in an awkward mimic of John's as the surprisingly light bundle was placed there. He stood very still as if he were afraid that she would break.

"It's ok. Look, she's perfectly content there."

She was. She gave a tiny yawn and seemed to nestle down into the blanket. Sherlock gingerly took the cap off her head to expose her thin layer of blond hair. He stroked a finger down her face and was surprised when a drop of moisture appeared there. He blinked and realized that the tears were coming from him. He scrubbed his hand across his eyes and cleared his throat.   
"Hello Willa."

\--

The stay at the hospital was blessedly short. Willa was observed for a slight case of jaundice from being an early bird, but other than that she was in perfect health. The nurses had got Mary out of bed and walking after she had slept for a few hours. She was able to get herself out of bed and to the rocking chair easily within a day.

She had made the difficult decision not to even try to breastfeed. Since John didn't possess the right equipment, it was bottles right from the start. The biggest surprise had been Sherlock. It shouldn't have been a surprise at all, but it was still odd to see those large hands holding a bottle at the precise and correct angle to prevent gas bubbles.

They were due to leave in just a few hours, just as soon as the last blood test was done, when it arrived. To an outsider, it would have seemed innocuous. A single red rose. A rose that had appeared out of nowhere while Mary napped and everyone else grabbed a snack, or just coffee in Sherlock's case, at the hospital cafe. 

The only person that knew where they were or even that the baby had been born beside those immediately involved was Greg. And it was definitely not from him. Sherlock and John had walked into the room while Mary was still asleep and Sherlock had noticed it immediately. He held up a hand for John's silence while he looked at it from all angles, as if it were a live bomb. He pulled a latex glove from his pocket, he always seemed to have them handy, and gingerly removed the card after taking several pictures to document the placement.

The card simply read: Enjoy them while you can. F.V.

\--

Ford gloated. He had found an in to the hospital for his gift to be delivered. It was so simple. Hiding in plain sight, indeed. The delivery uniform was the easy part. The most difficult part was getting past Mycroft's goons. Glasses and a hat completing his outfit, he walked right up the front desk and proceeded to inanely flirt with the person manning the front desk. He had already staked him out and had deduced that he had recently broken up with his boyfriend, loved comic books and was attracted to the slightly geeky set.

He had grabbed the first t-shirt that he came to at the local comic book shop. It portrayed a man dressed in green with a gold horned helmet. He vaguely recognized the figure from a recent movie but didn't think it was worth his time to research. If things went well, he wouldn't need anything more than a smile and a few words to get what he needed. If they didn't, well, filling his head with useless popular trivia wouldn't help him.

It worked. A few minutes of pointless small talk and a fake phone number had convinced the man to allow him past to deliver the flower. He had said that usually he didn't do this and it could cost him his job, but he could make an exception. Ford had smiled his thanks and promised himself that if this all went to hell, that one would be the first to go.

He made it to the elevator with little incident and had barely avoided running into John and Sherlock. They had appeared around the corner and he ducked into another room that appeared to be storage. He watched as Mycroft's security team did a perimeter check and was able to predict rather quickly when there would be an opening for him to act. Then it was just a simple matter of going in the room and preventing himself from putting a bullet in Sasha's head while she lay sleeping. But, it would not have been very sporting of him.

He carefully placed the rose and its message on the table, keeping a careful eye on Sasha for signs of waking. He couldn't help but take a few moments to observe the child where it lay sleeping. He tapped a finger on the card that stated its name. Willa Grace Watson. Willa, a derivative of William. How quaint. How disgusting. 

The movement must have wakened the child because it opened its eyes and looked at him. It didn't cry and he touched its skull just on the anterior fontanelle. He could feel its pulse through the thin skin covering the hole where the bone would eventually grow. Tempting. But not now. 

He took a last look at the two vulnerable bodies and made his escape.

\--

"How, Mycroft?"

Sherlock was pacing. He looked crazed. His hair was sticking up where he had been running his hands through it and he was working up to yanking on it.

"Working on it, Sherlock."

Mycroft was on the phone with Anthea who had been interviewing the front desk clerk. He had finally admitted to letting a delivery person through after she had shown him an unknown message on her blackberry. She reported the description to Mycroft and he immediately recognized it as Sherrinford. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

"It was him." Mary's voice was flat and resigned. 

"He apparently charmed his way past the idiot at the front desk and just walked right in. I have no doubt that he was able to find a small hole in our security and get to the room.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, the only sign of weariness he let slip. 

“This is intolerable!” Sherlock snarled. He kicked a plastic wastebasket and Willa started to cry. He blanched at the sound and fled out into the hallway.

John picked Willa up from her bassinet and placed her in Mary’s arms. “I’ll be right back.” She nodded. He prevented Mycroft from following him with a look.

He found Sherlock just down the stark hallway where he had slid down the wall and was sitting with his knees drawn up, looking absolutely miserable. John sat in the floor next to him, just close enough to brush their shoulders together.

“Hey...” he began and Sherlock cut him off.

“I can’t do it. I don’t know where he is, I don’t know what he’s trying to accomplish, I can’t even keep him out of a supposedly secure hospital room.” He dug his fingers into his hair again. “It’s my fault. I can’t solve it, John. I can’t.”

John waited. He wanted to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and tell him everything would be alright but he knew if he did, Sherlock would either clam up or explode. So he waited.

“They were sleeping. They were sleeping and vulnerable and he could have done it right then.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. They would be gone. Willa would be gone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know what he’s waiting for. He could have destroyed me. Would have destroyed us. He would have won.” He took in a shaky breath. “You should take them and go. Mycroft can arrange it.”

“Not without you.” John looked at the wall opposite them. “Not ever again, Sherlock. You don’t get to send me away to keep me safe. We are in this together, you and I, and you don’t get to do this again.” He swallowed hard. “I love you too much to let you do that, so yeah, not going to happen.” He could feel Sherlock looking at him. He turned and saw utter confusion on Sherlock’s face. 

“You love me?” The question hung in the air.

“Course I do, you daft git. Have done for a long time.” 

“Why? How could you now? I have caused you so much pain. Your child is in danger because of me. You should run as far from me as you can.” Sherlock pressed his forehead to his knees. He didn’t want to look, couldn’t look. Soon John would realize that he was not worth all this. He would come to his senses because he is practical and good and would do anything to keep his daughter safe. It was the logical thing to do. He would take Willa and they could start a new life where Sherlock couldn’t find them. If he couldn’t find them then they would be safe. 

“Look at me.”

He remained in the same position. It was too much to raise his head and face John. Face his disappointment.

“Love, look at me.”

He turned his head to look at John, who was watching him with his usual mix of fondness and annoyance. John scooted closer so that their shoulders were pressed firmly together and took Sherlock's hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He heaved a deep sigh.

"You and Willa are the most important people in my life. I will do anything, anything to keep you both safe. I need you to understand that. We are in this together. Together, Sherlock. I don't plan on being without you ever again." John held his eyes, willing him to listen and comprehend. "So no more of this. No more blaming yourself, no more taking the world on your shoulders. We are partners. Where you go, I go. You don't ever go where I can't follow, ever again. I love you."

Sherlock didn't say anything, couldn't say anything to that. He stretched out his legs in front of him, slumping a bit, and rested his head on John's shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"You lead a dangerous life with me. Are you sure that is what you want?"

"Always."

He sat up, turning again to look into John's eyes. "And what you said before, John. I as well. I don't always express myself well in these matters, but I just want you to know that I..." He broke off, struggling to find the proper words. John came to his rescue.

"I know, love. I know. It's ok." John stood then, offering a hand and pulling Sherlock to his feet. He wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him down for a sweet and chaste kiss.

"Promise me that you won't go it alone. You'll tell me. Alright?"

Sherlock nodded. "Promise." He hoped that John would forgive him the lie this time.

\--

It was decided that everyone would be transferred to the safehouse for the time being for logistics sake. It was easier keeping an eye on all involved and it was more convenient for Willa’s needs. Mrs. Hudson had been whisked away to the house in the middle of the night after Ford's message at the hospital and she was waiting for them there.

"Let me see the little dear," she cooed, taking Willa from Mary after greeting them all. "She looks just like you, John. She has your eyes."

"And his chin." This came from Sherlock, who shared an amused look with John. John just rolled his eyes. 

"Where did her name come from? Is it a family name?" Mrs. Hudson directed the question to Mary. 

"I'm not entirely sure. John picked it and I liked it as well." Mary shrugged. "It was on the short list and it made the cut."

"I think it's lovely. And it suits her so." Mrs. Hudson passed the baby over to John. "Here you are. You be good for your papa now." She pressed a kiss to Willa's head and gave John a pat on the shoulder. "I'm going to go and see about our tea."

"I think Mycroft has people to do that Mrs. Hudson," John called to her. "He does have a housekeeper. And a chef and who knows what else."

"Pish posh. It's no bother, just this once."

The three exchanged small smiles at that. An uncomfortable silence fell. John cleared his throat.

"What now?"

Mary spoke first. "Right now, I am going to take this one and get her settled. She's due for a feed and a nap anyway." She took Willa, who was yawning. "I think you two are going to get back to locating Ford. Right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock put his mobile back in his pocket. "Yes. Of course. Come along John."

They went their separate ways.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Earning the explicit tag!

Chapter 16

Weeks. It had been weeks since they had left the hospital. Weeks since Sherrinford had left his message and had come so close to Mary and Willa. Weeks since the texts started.

The first text had prompted Sherlock's impromptu flight from the hospital room. He was already on edge and it had pushed him right over.

**Its skull is so fragile. Just a small amount of pressure. So easy to snuff out its light.**

He knew that he should tell John about the texts, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had promised, but knew he would never be able to fulfill it. Sherrinford would be relentless and he couldn't trust Mycroft's agents anymore. There was evidently a leak for Sherrinford to have been able to find them so easily. So he couldn't go to Mycroft.

**She still loves him, you know. Keeps her ring on a chain around her neck.**

He'd seen the chain, but it was always carefully tucked inside her blouse. Sherrinford must have seen it when he was at the hospital. He had already deduced that Mary probably still had feelings for John but he had tried to ignore it. He couldn't let sentiment distract him. 

It was difficult, after finally sharing John's bed that one time, to stay away from him. He knew John had expected that they would finally share a room when they arrived at the house, but Sherlock had put all of John's things in Sherrinford's old room again. The look on John's face was devastating. Sherlock had quickly said something about how he would be more comfortable in that room and that he would not be sleeping much anyway. He had been back to cat naps on the sofa in the office where they were still working on the case.

**I can't wait to see her face when he dies. He has to go first, you see.**

The texts went on and on. At least one or two a day. They all were in the same two themes. John would die, then Mary. Or the baby and John would die. Or just the baby would die and John would kill Mary out of grief. Those were the threatening ones.

The other ones went over again and again the signs that the Watsons still loved each other. That John would take Mary back if Sherlock was not there, now that the child was a reality. That it would devastate John when Mary died and Sherlock would be the one to blame. That John would never forgive him. Over and over. He never responded.

**If you care to come play, I might reconsider John's life.**

Sherlock stared at the screen. This was new. Sherrinford had gotten tired of waiting and had decided to draw them out instead. He made a decision. John was going to be so angry with him.

**I decide the time and place. SH**

**Agreed. Come alone. If I get a sniff of Mycroft, their lives are forfeit.**

**Of course. SH**

He sent the information. He had a few things to take care of beforehand.

\--

John awoke with a jerk. He looked at the time and groaned. He'd just been asleep for an hour after taking his turn putting Willa to bed. Fortunately, she was proving to be a good sleeper so he was hoping to get at least 5 hours or so before getting up.

It was the sound of the door opening that woke him. He saw Sherlock's silhouette backlit for a moment before he shut the door. "What's wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head. He didn't speak. He was dressed in trousers and a buttondown shirt but his feet were bare. He stood for a moment at the door, hand flat against it, before turning the lock. 

"Sherlock?" John rubbed his eyes, fully awake now. He couldn't figure out what the hell Sherlock was doing now. They hadn't spoken more than a handful of words the past few days and he had felt the distance growing between them. He had tried again and again to get Sherlock to talk to him but it had proved to be fruitless. Sherlock had gently but firmly shut him down each time, not with cruelty or harsh words as he once would have but with the promise that they would talk soon. Just not right now.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, head down and hands clasped in his lap. He finally turned and looked at John where he sat up against the headboard, blankets still pooled around him.

"I'm sorry, John."

He was making absolutely no sense. John peered at him, trying to get a read on what was going on. "About what?"

"All of this. This situation. I know that you feel like you're being shut out and I apologize for that." His knuckles were turning white where his hands were gripped tight together. 

"What's brought this on, then? We've talked about this. I don't know what else I can say." He placed a hand on Sherlock's back and felt him shiver at the touch. "Come here. You look wrecked."

He slid over and pulled back the covers in invitation. He leaned forward and took Sherlock's hand, tugging him to lie down beside him.

Sherlock lay his head on his shoulder, face buried in John's neck. He slung an arm over John's chest, pulling him in tight.

"I missed you."

"I've been right here, in case you've forgotten. I want to help you but I can't unless you talk to me." John stroked a hand up and down Sherlock's back, shoulder to hip, soothing. He slid down and rolled onto his side so that they were face to face. "Talk to me, Sherlock. Please don't leave me out." He pushed the fingers of one hand into Sherlock's hair and felt him lean into his palm.

Sherlock shut his eyes tight, drinking in the comfort that was John. He had gotten accustomed to the small touches that they had begun sharing everyday and he had felt lost without them. It was by his own choice, of course, but now he allowed himself this indulgence. If things went badly, it might be his last chance. If things went well, John might not forgive him and it would still be his last chance. He would be selfish, now.

Instead of answering, Sherlock opened his eyes, studying John intently. Seeming to make up his mind about something, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to John's. The response was electric. John opened his mouth eagerly, fingers tightening in curls, and the kiss turned hungry and desperate. 

Sherlock groaned, throwing one trouser-clad leg over John's hip, trying to get closer. John pulled away from his mouth with a gasp.

"You are wearing far too many clothes. Bloody hell, all these buttons." He tugged the shirt out of Sherlock's trousers and then started working on the buttons. Sherlock tried to pull down John's pajama bottoms at the same time. "Slow down. We have time."

Sherlock ceased his efforts, breathing hard. He stayed where he was, perfectly still, with his unbuttoned shirt pulled down one arm. John stopped as well, noticing Sherlock's immediate about face.

"What is it?" John put a finger under Sherlock's chin, tilting his face up. "What's wrong, love?" 

At the sound of the endearment Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut again, a pained look on his face. "I just...I missed you so much, missed this so much. Being close to you. I'm so sorry, John."

John kissed him again, gently this time. "Shh, none of that now." He pulled Sherlock close and held him tight, placing soft kisses along his jawline. 

Sherlock tipped his head back to allow him easier access to his throat. He let himself get lost in it, clamping down viciously on the thoughts whirling through his head. He would be selfish. He loved John so much yet couldn't bear to put it into words.

"John."

It was barely a whisper. John's hands slid into his open shirt, tracing his ribs and running up his back. He fumbled with the cuff buttons, suddenly desperate it get the shirt completely off and give John more access.

"Please."

The shirt was tossed over the side, quickly followed by John's tshirt and pajama bottoms. Soon all that was left were Sherlock's trousers and John's pants.

"Let me help." John reached down blindly to start unfastening Sherlock's flies. The inside hook and button were proving to be difficult so Sherlock batted his hands away and did it himself. He reached into the pocket and retrieved the lube and condom that he had put there. Reaching over John with a long arm, he placed them on the side table and attempted to pull his trousers down without relinquishing the contact with John's mouth. 

"Prepared are we?" John smiled against his lips. He glanced down at the skin being revealed and groaned. "Of course. No pants. You bloody gorgeous thing." The trousers were quickly added to the pile on the floor.

Sherlock allowed himself a smile. John was happy here with him and he was determined to keep it that way. He slid his hands down John's back and gripped his arse over his pants. "Get these off."

"Go ahead."

Sherlock ran his hands under the waistband and carefully pulled them down, following the motion with slow wet kisses on John's chest and stomach. 

"Oh god." The fingers of both hands were now in Sherlock's hair, gripping firmly but not pulling. Not yet.

Sherlock finished removing John's pants and placed a final kiss on his hip before resting his cheek there. He closed his eyes, breathing him in and relishing in the sensation of the warm body underneath his. The fingertips against his scalp were gentle but had the promise of the tension he craved. 

He started with a gentle sucking kiss to the base of John's cock. It had been years but he was once good at this. He could feel the fingers tightening in his hair again and he grinned. He worked his tongue up the shaft slowly and was enraptured by the sounds John was making. He took it into his mouth as far as he could and gave soft suction on the way back up. 

Not too much stimulation, not just yet. He wanted to draw it out. He loved the feel of John's cock against his soft palate and he loved the fact that he could do this. It was allowed. He was allowed to give this pleasure even if it was just for this night. 

Can't think about that. Focus.

He thought he could keep up this pace for a bit without getting John too close, but he soon found himself being hauled up John's body for a scorching kiss after just a few minutes. "Too close," John gasped. "That mouth." He grasped Sherlock's hips and rolled them over.

He rocked his hips against Sherlock, cocks brushing. Sherlock had not given his own arousal much thought and he gave a low moan at the contact.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" John breathed, working his way down Sherlock's throat again, sucking a mark on the pale skin. "Tell me what you want."

"John." He couldn't form any other words at the moment, couldn't think. "I-I love you."

John froze. He looked up to see Sherlock staring at the ceiling, chest heaving. He could feel him swallow hard.

“I know.”

“Do you? I wanted to say it out loud to make sure. I couldn’t bear you not being sure.” Sherlock closed his eyes. “You know this is not easy for me.”

“I love you, too.”

Sherlock smiled, just a quick upturn of the corners of his mouth. “You amaze me, John.” His lips pressed together and he seemed to be debating what he was going to say next. "I-"

He was cut off by John's mouth on his. He let himself drown in it, hands grasping and pulling John closer. He drew back and looked John in the eyes for the first time since those three words had fought their way out. "I brought the lubricant for a reason, you can make your own deductions."

John laughed, a full, happy sound. "Is that the way it is, then? Brilliant." He smiled and dove back down to claim Sherlock's mouth, reaching toward the side table at the same time. He quickly found the tube and flipped open the cap.

"Have you ever, um, done this before? I know you, what you said earlier, but-"

"Yes, but it's been years. You?"

"Same. Tell me if it hurts and-"

"Just get on with it!"

"Bossy git." 

John moved down until he was kneeling between Sherlock's thighs. He coated two fingers and tossed the tube to the side, still within easy reach. He looked at Sherlock and saw something vulnerable there. He leaned forward and kissed him gently. "Okay?" A nod. John kissed him again before sitting back.

He ran a hand down Sherlock's chest, across his stomach and then rested it on his hipbone. John reached down with one of his lube slicked fingers and pressed in. Sherlock drew in a sharp breath. 

"Alright?"

"Just go slow."

John nodded and worked his finger in and out slowly, He slid down until he was almost lying completely on his stomach and nudging his shoulders under Sherlock's thighs, took the head of his cock in his mouth. He slid down the shaft in time with the inward push of his finger and slid up at the withdrawal.

The result was a muffled deep groan. He looked up and saw Sherlock watching him, the heel of his hand pressed to his mouth. John reached up with his free hand and tugged Sherlock's arm down. He pulled off. "Don't. I want to hear you."

"God, John." 

John laced his fingers with Sherlock's and continued his slow slide and suck, feeling the muscles start to relax. He looked up again and locked eyes. He placed Sherlock's large hand on the back his head and moved a little faster from the pressure. He felt Sherlock's long fingers run through his short hair and cup the back of his head more firmly. He let Sherlock set the pace.

"Mmm. Another."

John grabbed the lube again and pulling out completely, squeezed more on his fingers before going back to his ministrations. He inserted just the tips of his fingers, stretching the rim just a bit before sliding them both in. He waited, holding his head still, until he felt Sherlock relax around him.

Following the pressure on the back of his skull, John started to move faster. The next time he pulled out he crooked his fingers slightly, searching. Sherlock let out a guttural moan. There. The hand on his head tightened in his hair, pulling, and the other one gripped the sheet tightly, twisting.

"Now, John. You, please!"

He ignored Sherlock's impatience and slid three fingers in, working them in and out. He brushed over the little bundle of nerves and- 

"Stop!" 

The hand in John's hair tightened painfully and he froze. 

"Sorry, sorry." Sherlock gasped. "Too close."

John pulled off but continued to move his fingers in and out, carefully avoiding Sherlock's prostate. "Ready?"

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip. John withdrew his fingers and kneeling up gave himself a few quick strokes with his still lubed hand, reaching for the condom on the nightstand. Sherlock retrieved it first.

"Let me." Tearing open the packet, Sherlock smoothed it down John's length. He picked up the lube and squeezing some into his palm, slicked John's cock and lay back.

John grasped himself at the base and put the head of his cock against Sherlock's loosened hole and began to press in. He felt the head push past the ring of muscle and worked his way inside with small thrusts. He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's face for any sign of pain. 

Sherlock gritted his teeth against stretch and burn, but managed to gasp out "Keep going" when it seemed that John was going to stop. He let out a shuddery breath when he felt John's balls rest against the curve of his arse.

"Alright?" John whispered, closing his eyes.

"Yes. Just give me a moment." 

John held himself still while Sherlock adjusted, heart pounding. Keeping one arm braced, he slid the other up the back of Sherlock's neck drawing him up into another kiss.

"You can move now." Sherlock murmured against his lips. 

John took him at his word and gave a long, slow thrust. He was thankful for the condom, because it would at least help him last longer. The tight heat of Sherlock's body was incredible and he had to hold himself back from moving faster.

He lowered himself to his elbows and Sherlock wrapped his legs around him, knees on either side of his ribcage and heels digging into the small of his back. He kept up the slow but steady pace, listening to the unbelievable noises that Sherlock was making, small gasps and moans. 

It was incredibly erotic but also heart wrenching, knowing that this was the same man that kept everything bottled up against the world. And John was taking him apart a bit at a time. He moved a little faster with an upward hitch that made Sherlock gasp and throw his head back.

"Move John. Harder, please..." Sherlock broke off with a breathy moan as John snapped his hips, hitting that spot again. John was letting go. He didn't have to be as careful now and he scooped his arms under Sherlock's shoulder blades, not able to get as much leverage but able to hit his prostate with each thrust. 

Sherlock was clinging to him as he moved, arms and legs wrapped tightly, his cock receiving delicious friction where it was trapped between them. His fingers were digging into John's back and he knew he was leaving red marks and he didn't care. It felt too good to be this close to John. 

"Can you come like this?"

"I don't know. I think so."

This admission made John thrust even harder, the headboard striking the wall with a dull thud each time. Sherlock was giving a sharp cry with every stroke and he grabbed John's arse with both hands, urging him to go even faster, harder. 

"Jesus Christ, please tell me you're close." John was barely hanging on and Sherlock was practically incoherent. Sherlock turned his face into John's, smearing kisses on his lips until they were just panting into each other's mouth.

Sherlock gave a loud cry that was practically a wail and his arse started contracting around John's cock as he came. John pushed himself up to get more leverage and pounded into him, Sherlock still grasping his arse and pulling him in, riding out the last of his orgasm. John came seconds later with a low drawn out groan, emptying himself into the tip of the condom.

Sherlock slid his hands up John's back, pulling him down until he was lying on top of him, face buried in his neck.

"That was amazing."

Sherlock kissed the side of his face. "Yes."

John raised his head and gave him a slow, sweet kiss and smiled. "I love you." 

John pushed himself up, and grabbing the base of the condom, pulled out. He stood up and padded over to the bathroom to dispose of it and to get a dampened flannel. He cleaned the come off both of their bellies and chests and then gently wiped the lube from Sherlock's arse. He tossed the used cloth over the side and lay down, pulling the covers back up from where they had been shoved almost to the floor.

He lay on his back and putting an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, guided him down so that his head rested on his chest. He carded a hand through his sweat-soaked curls and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"I love you too, John. Always." Sherlock's rumbling voice against his chest was the last thing he remembered before sleep overtook him.

\--

Sherlock glanced at John to make sure that he was still sound asleep before extricating himself and getting out of bed. He scooped up his clothes where they had been flung to the floor and dressed quietly, not bothering with the buttons. He had to get out of the house without anyone knowing or all of this would be for nothing. John would die. He would do anything to prevent that. 

He chanced a quick kiss to John's forehead before he left, unable to help himself. He loved this man. He hoped John still loved him after he found out what Sherlock had done.

He unlocked the door and padded across the hallway to his own room. A quick shower and then he dressed himself carefully, in sharp lines and tailored perfection. Ready for battle.

\--

The car was waiting at the end of the drive at the precise time instructed. Getting out of the house had been disturbingly easy. He really needed to have a word with Mycroft about his people. If he survived this meeting.

He got in with no expectations of seeing Sherrinford. Sherlock knew that he would be waiting at the warehouse that was the chosen meeting place, ready to make a dramatic statement. He checked his phone. John had not woken up yet. He expected that he would discover Sherlock's absence soon and he readied himself for John's anger. 

Tucking the phone back in his pocket, the restless tapping of his fingers were the only giveaway of his anxiety. He knew what Sherrinford was, what he was capable of. This was bigger than Moriarty. Moriarty had played a game and lost. This, however. This was personal.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

John woke to an empty bed. He stretched luxuriously, feeling the small aches and pains from the previous night's activities. It felt wonderful. He wasn't terribly surprised that Sherlock wasn't there, but he couldn't help but feel a small pang of disappointment. The strange way that Sherlock had come to him in the middle of the night had unnerved him at first, but he just chalked it up to the extreme amount of stress that they had all been under. One of them was bound to break.

He listened to the monitor on the bedside table but didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. Good. Either Willa was letting them all sleep in, or one of the others had gotten her up without him hearing.

He got up and paid no mind to the pajamas on the floor. He went straight into the attached bath to shower and then got dressed. He smiled at himself in the mirror as he rubbed a hand over his stubble preparing to shave. He had finally started to believe that this would work out. They would be fine. It had been a good night.

He finished getting ready and went to check on Willa. Then he wanted to find Sherlock and see if he could get some breakfast in him.

\--

The car arrived at the prescribed address. The warehouse stood in an abandoned business complex near the docks. The only sound that registered was the water and the sharp clack of his footsteps. He reached the rusted door and it opened with ease. He entered and paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness within. Only a few lights seemed to be working and those were centered over two chairs standing alone on the grey concrete floor.

A slender figure stood next to one of the chairs, resting one hand lightly on the back. His back was to Sherlock but he would have recognized him anywhere. 

Sherlock strode forward confidently until he reached the chairs. He could not afford to show any weakness, so he put on his best blank face and pretended that his heart was not trying to pound its way out of his chest.

"Sherrinford."

\--

Mrs. Hudson had been the one that had picked Willa up. John found them in the dining room, Willa freshly fed and changed. He took her from Mrs. Hudson, giving her a kiss on the cheek in thanks. "You didn't have to get up with her."

"It was no trouble, dear. I was up and heard the little darling so I decided to let you have a bit of a lie in." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Seems like it was in order. I don't sleep as well as I used to."

John flushed. "Um, sorry about that."

"No worries, no worries." She flapped a hand at him. "Where's himself? Still lying about?"

"You haven't seen him?" John looked at her curiously. "He wasn't there when I...I mean. He must have gotten up earlier."

"No, I haven't." She looked worried all of a sudden. "John, you need to see if he's here."

"If he's here? Where else would he be?"

She pressed a hand to her lips. "I thought - well, he came to see me last night before bed and he didn't seem quite like himself. John, give me the little miss and go see if he's here." Her urgency was starting to bleed over to John and he felt his pulse pick up.

He gave the baby back to her and went to find Mycroft.

\--

"Hello, brother dear. How lovely to see you. It's been a long time."

Sherrinford turned to face him, clasping his hands behind his back. His smile was genuine but Sherlock saw the anger just below the surface.

"I can't claim to share the feeling." Sherlock gave him a onceover. "You're disappointed in me."

"Excellent deduction, Sherlock." Sherrinford walked around him in a slow circle. "You have sacrificed your true potential, all in the name of sentiment." He spat the words out, lips curling into a snarl. His face immediately fell back into a calmer tone. "Caring is not an advantage."

"Ah, yes. The only bit of wisdom that you managed to pass on to Mycroft. Well done." Sherlock kept his tone mocking, feeling out the edges of Sherrinford's anger. "He's mentioned that very same thing. He does go on and on."

The flash of anger was there and then gone in a heartbeat. A person that didn't know what to look for would have missed it, but Sherlock saw. He was getting to him. He just hoped it didn't get him killed. Sherrinford was nothing if not impulsive.

\--

John found Mycroft in the study. "Where is he?"

"John, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about." Mycroft took a closer look at him. "He wasn't there when you woke up."

"I am not in the mood to play games, Mycroft. Do you or do you not know where your giant git of a brother is?"

"One moment." Mycroft had already put his phone to his ear and held up a finger. "What?" He looked at John and without another word said, John wheeled around to go and find Mrs. Hudson.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

\--

Sherlock wondered at the time. He was unable to approximate due to the lack of windows in the warehouse, but he guessed that about two hours had passed since he had left the house. John should have woken up by now and discovered that he was missing. 

There it was. He could feel more than hear the mad buzzing of his mobile as multiple text messages came in. He hoped that his faith in Mrs. Hudson would be proven once again and she would do her part. 

John would figure it out. He had to.

\--

John practically ran to the dining room, phone in hand. He was relieved to see that Mrs. Hudson and Willa were still there. Mary had joined them.

"Tell me exactly what he said to you last night."

"Oh dear. It was very odd, let me see. He seemed so upset." Her hands fluttered as she remembered. "He was very serious and he made me promise not to go and wake you up. He gave me something and told me that I would know the correct time to give it to you. Oh, and I was to give it to you and only you. Not to Mycroft or to Mary." Mrs. Hudson didn't bother giving Mary an apologetic look. She was too worried and it didn't matter. She handed over a small envelope.

John tore into it at once, hands shaking. He read the short lines in Sherlock's strong handwriting and then clenched the note in his fist, crumpling it.

"I am going to kill him."

\--

Sherlock had removed his coat and folded it over the back of one of the chairs, stuffing his scarf and gloves in the pockets. His mobile was in his trouser pocket and it had finally ceased buzzing. John must have gotten the note then. 

"Someone is quite upset with you." Sherrinford was sitting in the other chair, facing him. He had watched Sherlock pacing with the effort of not checking his phone. "Go ahead and see what he says. I don't mind."

Sherlock resented doing what he suggested but he was unable to resist.

**Where are you?**

**Answer me, please.**

**I suggest you answer your phone, Sherlock, before John does something rash - MH**

He counted on John doing something rash. It was Sherrinford's inability to predict what John would do that would make this work.

**I swear to God if you've run off and done something stupid.**

**Answer your phone.**

**You promised. You promised me, Sherlock.**

**Not where I can't follow.**

He closed his eyes for a moment at the last text. He couldn't count on John's forgiveness this time. If he lived, that would have to be enough.

Sherrinford smirked. "Ah. Very upset then. You've made a mess of things as usual." He put his fingers to his lips as if deep in thought. "You know, if you are amenable, I might have a solution."

This is what Sherlock had been waiting for. He knew that Sherrinford wanted him to come with him, help with whatever schemes he had come up with.

"Oh, really," he drawled. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

Sherrinford's eyes narrowed. "You know exactly what I have to offer, brother dear. If you value your doctor's life, you'll listen carefully."

\--

_John,_

_It seems that I have acquired more than my share of arch enemies. Go back to the beginning, you know where. Do not trust Mycroft's people, trust Mycroft._

_I hope you can forgive me._

_I love you._

_Yours always,_   
_Sherlock ___

__John read and reread the crumpled piece of paper, trying to suss out what Sherlock was trying to tell him. He ran his finger over the three words that Sherlock had such a hard time saying. He had to figure this out._ _

__Arch enemies? Back to the beginning? Mycroft._ _

__He found Mycroft still in the study, directing his people to view any and all security footage that was available. "Mycroft, a word?" He looked at the agents. "Alone?"_ _

__They left with a wave of Mycroft's hand, even Anthea. "What have you found, John?"_ _

__John handed him the note. Mycroft's eyebrows crept up as he read. "He's gone back to that warehouse."_ _

__"Knew you'd figure it out right away. Took me a bit. What do we do?"_ _

__"If my staff has been compromised, we are going to have to rely on an alternate resource. How do you feel about that?"_ _

__"Alternate resource?" John's brow furrowed in confusion. Then it dawned on him. "You're talking about Mary."_ _

__"And I am asking your opinion." Mycroft looked at him expectantly. "That does not happen often."_ _

__"Don't I know it," John grumbled. "I don't see that we have much of a choice. He'll have men there with him, won't he?"_ _

__"Assuredly. Sherrinford always relied on others to do his dirty work. I would suspect that has not changed."_ _

__"I'll talk to her." John put his hand on the doorknob. "God knows what she'll say."_ _

__\--_ _

__"I propose that you join me. You were always such an adept at getting people to do what you want. I expect that has not changed."_ _

__Sherlock nodded and took the seat opposite him, crossing his legs, hands folded in his lap. Perfectly at ease on the outside. Soon, John, please._ _

__"I assume that you have something of value to offer me if I accept your proposal?"_ _

__"Oh yes. The lives of your doctor and his child. Sasha's life is forfeit no matter what, so don't attempt to bargain for her."_ _

__"I wouldn't dream of it. She did shoot me, you know."_ _

__\--_ _

__Mary joined them in the study after settling Willa with Mrs. Hudson. John explained the situation to her._ _

__"Bloody buggering fuck, what an idiot."_ _

__John couldn't help a small smile. "That was my initial reaction as well." He turned to her with a grave face. "I wouldn't ask you to do this if you weren't already involved. But we're kind of at a disadvantage here."_ _

__"I know." She crossed her arms. "I'll help if it will get Ford out of our lives. I have one condition, though, and I need to speak to Mycroft about it. Alone."_ _

__John blinked at her. "Alright. I'll be just outside." He closed the door behind him._ _

__Mycroft looked at Mary curiously. "What is your condition, Ms. Morstan?"_ _

__She pressed her lips together, wanting to phrase this exactly in the right way. "We both know what Ford will do if he suspects we're coming. I want assurances from you that if it is necessary, I have the authority to eliminate him. No matter what he has done, he is still your brother."_ _

__"It didn't seem to matter when you shot the other one, did it?" Mycroft bristled. "Apologies." He smoothed a hand over his face. "I know that you are being logical and I am well aware that one or both of them will not survive this encounter. Do your best with what you have."_ _

__She nodded and started for the door._ _

__"Ms. Morstan?"_ _

__She stopped._ _

__"If I discover that you used this situation to rid yourself of a certain inconvenience, shall we say, I will find you."_ _

__"No worries about that, Mycroft. It wouldn't do any good. He's made his choice."_ _

__\--_ _

__The three impromptu rescuers had parked about a half mile away from the warehouse. They had no idea what they were going to find without the use of Mycroft's resources. John vaguely remembered the warehouse as just being dark, damp and a perfect stage for dramatics. They had to plan quickly and quietly and make do with what they had there. Luckily the safehouse was equipped with a small arsenal in a panic room. John had so many questions for Mycroft when this was all over._ _

__Mary had picked a sniper rifle which made John grit his teeth in remembrance of what he had read in her file. It would not be the first time that she would be looking down on Sherlock from a scope. She had looked at him and shrugged almost apologetically, "It's what I'm good at."_ _

__He had his Browning tucked into the back of his jeans and he was not surprised when Mycroft had stripped off his jacket and pulled on a shoulder holster. He handled the gun confidently and John had to admit some grudging respect for it. At least one Holmes brother subscribed to proper gun safety._ _

__The area that the warehouse was located in was deserted. It was still fairly early in the morning and this location was not heavily used. Mycroft had also provided communication so that they would not have to rely on their phones. A small earpiece with a clip on mic so they could talk and keep their hands free._ _

__Mary headed off at a crouching jog that made John stare. He had read the file but had never actually seen her in action. He watched as she approached the warehouse silently with the gun already assembled and ready to use. They had decided that she would find an outside access door to the upper level to work on identifying how many bodies were contained within._ _

__John and Mycroft moved carefully between smaller buildings and abandoned equipment, making their way closer and closer to the target. There were no other people as far as the eye could see, but that didn't mean they weren't being watched._ _

__They saw Mary's dark figure climb the metal steps on the outside of the building and waited. Two clicks sounded in their ears. A pause. Three more clicks. Five people were inside the building, including Sherlock and Sherrinford. At least, John hoped one of the five was Sherlock._ _

__Time to move._ _

__\--  
Sherlock was starting to get nervous. It was a disconcerting feeling. He didn't know how much longer he could stall Sherrinford by playing into his lunatic plan. He just had to keep him talking._ _

__"You and I. We could accomplish great things. Walk away from this clean lifestyle that you've adopted and you could shine again." Ford slapped his thighs and stood. "You were always at your best then."_ _

__"You're referring to the times that you convinced me to get high and then do your dirty work?" Sherlock sneered at him, losing his composure. "How is that my best?"_ _

__"Oh Sherlock." Ford laughed. "I didn't mean it was the best for you. You were a tool to achieve a goal. Surely you realized that. It wasn't a secret." He looked at the mark that was visible on Sherlock's neck. "Looks like you're still doing some dirty work. Having fun?"_ _

__"It is useful, as you said, a tool." Sherlock hoped that John wasn't already there to hear what he was about to say. "Having an assistant has proven to be beneficial. This is just transport. It means nothing to me." _I'm sorry, John.__ _

__This pulled a full bodied laugh from Ford. "Oh really? You're going to sit there and try to tell me it means nothing to you?" He wiped his eyes. "I could tell that you were drowning in sentiment when I first saw you. It makes you weak."_ _

__"You never intended to leave John out of this, did you?" Sherlock knew now that Sherrinford had figured out that John would show up here, he hoped that he didn't know everything._ _

__"Of course not!" Ford's voice echoed throughout the empty warehouse. Red dots lit up Sherlock's face and chest. "You've been quite foolish, baby brother. Isn't that right, Doctor Watson?"_ _

__Sherlock watched John step out of the shadows, gun raised. "That would be the understatement of the year."_ _

__Sherlock's face was a mixture of relief and fear and misery. John flicked his eyes over to look him up and down quickly and then turned his attention back to Sherrinford. "Now what do we do?"_ _

__"Now, Doctor Watson? Sherlock has to make a choice." Sherrinford paced, hands behind his back, looking as if they were just enjoying a simple conversation._ _

__"What are you talking about?"_ _

__"I've offered him a solution. If he joins me, you live. If he doesn't, you all die. Simple, really."_ _

__John gaped at him. "Are you insane?"_ _

__"Possibly. My parents never had me tested, but I have wondered." Sherrinford grinned. "Sherlock is not meant for you, Doctor Watson. He has far more important things to do."_ _

__"John." Sherlock was silently pleading for John to just let him talk and not antagonize him. He knew Sherrinford was armed and could become violent easily. He would shoot John without a second's thought._ _

__"You just expect him to up and leave with you? For what? So you can use him? I don't think so." John's hand holding the gun was steady but he would start to feel the burn in his muscles if he couldn't drop it soon. "Not while I'm here."_ _

__Ford laughed incredulously. "That is not a problem." The red dots that had been dancing across Sherlock's chest moved to John's forehead._ _

__"Stop. I'll do it."_ _

__Sherrinford and John both looked at Sherlock. "What?" Their voices were perfectly in sync._ _

__"I'll do it. Just leave him out of it." He was watching the red dots and he saw one of them disappear. "I'll go with you." He turned to Sherrinford to try and deflect his attention from John and willed John to trust him just a little bit. He didn't hold out much hope for that after he had betrayed his promise but he would do what it took to keep John alive. Two dots left._ _

__"I told you, caring is not an advantage. I do hate repeating myself." Ford walked a wide circle around them, John tracked him with his pistol. He really needed to put it down soon or his arm would start to shake. He gritted his teeth and shifted his stance slightly. Ford smirked in acknowledgement._ _

__"Doctor Watson, that pistol must be getting heavy. Tremors would affect your aim in a most unfortunate way." Ford's path took him directly in front of Sherlock but he kept walking without a pause, unbuttoning his jacket._ _

__Sherlock was searching John's face for any indication of which way to go. They usually worked together seamlessly, knowing exactly where the other would be, but this was spiraling quickly out of control. He saw another dot vanish. One left._ _

__"I see that you brought some friends with you, Doctor. They seem to be making short work of my snipers."_ _

__"Doing their job then."_ _

__"Indeed."_ _

__Ford was watching when the final dot vanished. He pulled a pistol from under his jacket and aimed it at Sherlock's head. "On your knees, brother dear. I'm sure you've had lots of practice."_ _

__Sherlock did as he was told, dropping to his knees in one graceful motion. Ford stood behind him, pistol pressed to the back of his head._ _

__John kept the gun on Sherrinford, but his eyes were dancing back and forth between the two men. Suddenly, he saw a tell-tale red dot appear on Sherrinford's forehead._ _

__"Vatican Cameos."_ _

__John's voice was quiet and even, but he exploded into action, diving at Sherlock and bearing him to the ground._ _

__There were two shots._ _


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left is the epilogue!

Chapter 18

"Are you alright?"

John lowered his gun from his prone position on top of Sherlock. He had tried his best to keep him covered and it looked like Sherrinford wasn't moving. "I'm fine, Sherlock."

He got up, gun raising again as he approached. There was a small red hole in between wide eyes that looked far too much like Sherlock's. John kicked the pistol away from him and tucking his own back into his jeans, he reached down to check for a pulse that didn't exist. He brushed a hand to close those eyes and heaved a sigh of relief. 

That relief didn't last long. He looked at where Sherlock was still seated on the concrete floor, staring at his brother's lifeless body. No matter what Sherrinford had done, he had once been the only person in the world that Sherlock had looked up to. 

John pressed the button on his mic. "Mycroft?"

"John, you need to get up here. Now."

"Is it secure? Can I bloody well leave Sherlock here or are we still in danger?"

"It's secure. Bring Sherlock."

\--

John reached out a hand to help Sherlock, who was still looking at Sherrinford. John knelt down in front of him. "Sherlock? Come on, Sherlock. We have to go up there and see what's going on."

Sherlock shook his head as if coming out of a trance. "Yes. Yes, of course." John stood again and this time he took the offered hand to get to his feet.

They both broke into a run toward the stairs leading to the upper catwalk, John in the lead.

\--

The sight that awaited them was unexpected. Mycroft knelt next to Mary, a white handkerchief pressed against her upper chest. He had stripped off his jacket and it was bundled under her head. 

"I'm sorry, John. We took out two of Sherrinford's men but the last one got between us. Mary decided to go ahead and line up the shot when he pulled on Sherlock but I wasn't fast enough."

"Let me see." John took over putting pressure with the makeshift bandage but it was quickly soaking through. "I know there has to be a kit in that car, one of you run and get it." The brothers looked at each other. "I don't care who. Move!" John barked and Sherlock leapt to his feet and ran for the stairs, Mycroft tossing him the car keys on his way by and pointing out the direction in which the car waited.

"John." Mary's voice was weak. She reached up a hand to his face and she tried to smile at him. "John, it's alright. It's alright, love. We both knew how this was going to go. We've both seen it before." She coughed, blood staining her teeth.

"Nope. Not happening." 

John looked at Mycroft, who sat next to them with his phone in his hands. "Without knowing who was working for Sherrinford, I was only able to get a message to Anthea. She is the only one I trust." He checked the incoming messages. "It will take some time for an ambulance to arrive."

"Here hold pressure on this." John switched with Mycroft so that he could strip off his jacket and shirt to get to the white vest beneath. He handed it to Mycroft to replace the handkerchief and threw his shirt back on, not bothering with the buttons.

"Where is he?" John gritted out, pressing his hands down hard on the wound. Mary reached up again and held onto his wrist. He could see the blood pooling underneath her where the bullet had torn its way through her chest. He needed that kit. Now.

"John. I'm sorry."

\--

Sherlock returned, med kit in hand, ten minutes later. He had sprinted the half mile to the car and had driven back as fast as he could. He found John still working to control the blood loss, Mycroft's expensive shirt having been requisitioned as a bandage as well. 

He put it beside John where he still knelt at Mary's side, opening it wide. "What do you need?"

"Hand me those gauze pads, this is about soaked through." 

Working together, they fought to save Mary's life. Mycroft was on his mobile, still clad in his simple white vest, gave updates as to the arrival of the medical team.

"Five minutes out."

"We need them here now. It's starting to slow but she's lost a lot of blood." John looked into her eyes, which were starting to flutter closed. "Hey! None of that! Stay with us."

Sherlock sat back, watching John and seeing the soldier that he had been and still was. This was their battlefield and Sherlock wondered if it would soon become too much. Too high a price.

He heard voices below and quickly ran to the railing to alert the medics to their location. The heavy footsteps on the metal stairs were a welcome sound.

John breathed a sigh of relief.

\--

Sherlock had forgotten about the body that still lay on the floor of the warehouse. He had been so involved with helping John, he had pushed Sherrinford completely out of his mind. He had followed the backboard as it bore Mary down the stairs right on John's heels and the sight had stopped him cold.

He walked toward it, irresistibly drawn to _look_. He had to see. 

John paused when he realized that Sherlock was no longer behind him. He looked back and saw him standing next to Sherrinford's still form. He glanced between Sherlock and the retreating backs of the team that were about to load Mary into the ambulance, suddenly torn about where he was supposed to be.

Mycroft saved him from his indecision.

"Anthea and I will accompany Mary to hospital. A car and driver will stay back to deliver you there when you are ready."

"Is it safe? What about Willa?" 

"Anthea has once again proved her value by routing out the mole and she has been dealt with. Willa and Mrs. Hudson are perfectly safe."

"What about him and the others?"

"Another team is waiting outside and will enter at your word. I have left them instructions to wait until you are finished."

"Alright." John started to scrub a hand over his face and winced at the dried blood that he found there. "Christ. Well, just keep me updated on her condition."

"Please do the same." Mycroft left them alone, Anthea following as always.

\--

Sherlock wasn't sure what he was meant to feel. Seeing Sherrinford had brought back a rush of memories, some good and some not so good. And now he was dead. 

This was the person that had cultivated his mind and had instructed him. He had helped to shape him into the person that he was today, in both positive and negative ways.

This was also the person that had threatened everyone that he loved because he thought that love was weak and deserved to be ridiculed. He was wrong, so very wrong.

Sherlock felt John's presence before he moved into his line of sight. 

"Why are you here? I thought you would go with Mary."

"She's in good hands. Thought you might need me here."

"I always need you. It's terrifying."

"It is."

John stood close enough to lean a comforting shoulder into Sherlock's bicep. His hands were still a mess, but he should have known that a little dried blood wouldn't deter Sherlock. He turned his back on Sherrinford's body, placing himself between it and John. He looked into John's face, searching for a sign that this was still allowed and found it there.

With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around John's shoulders, cheek pressed against John's temple. "I thought you would not forgive me. I broke my promise."

John let out a snort and returned the embrace, stained hands splayed on Sherlock's back. "Oh, don't think you're getting off that easy for one second. I am still very pissed off at you and we _will_ be having a very long talk later."

"I love you." John could feel the smile against his skin and couldn't help but grin a bit himself. He had a feeling, now that Sherlock had finally let down that barrier, he would be hearing those words in the form of an apology far too often. 

"Me too, you prat." John's grin faded. "Are you alright? I mean, he was your brother."

"I honestly don't know." Sherlock pressed a kiss into John's hair. "I'm just relieved that it's over."

"Ready?"

"Yes."

John pulled back and took Sherlock's hand. Sherlock picked up the Belstaff where it was still folded on the chair and they left the warehouse for Mycroft's clean up crew. He did not look back.

\--

They rode to the hospital in comfortable silence. John was relieved to see that Anthea had also brought him a change of clothes and he looked forward to cleaning up. Mycroft had sent both of them a text stating that Mary was in stable condition and was currently in surgery. 

When they arrived, John was directed to the doctor’s locker room and was provided toiletries. He was amused when Sherlock followed him, not wanting to let him out of his sight. He stopped him when he tried to follow him all the way into the shower room.

“Oh, no you don’t. Sit out here and wait on me.”

“But…”

“No. Make yourself useful and harass Mycroft about Mary’s status or call Mrs. Hudson to check on Willa.” He turned him around and gave him a small shove. “Go. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Sherlock allowed himself to be shooed to a chair just outside the shower room. He picked up his mobile and dialed Mrs. Hudson first. Mycroft was there to bother in person, after all.

“Hello, dear. Is everything alright?”

“At the moment. Mary was injured and she is still in surgery. John asked that I call and check on Willa.”

“Oh my! Is she going to be alright?”

“The doctors have stated that she should make a full recovery. How is Willa?”

“She’s been a little darling. She’s napping at the moment. Where’s John? He was frightfully worried about you when you ran off, dear. Honestly, the things you put him through.”

“I don’t know why he stays.” Sherlock swallowed. “I didn’t think he would this time.”

“You boys are going to drive each other mad, thinking the other one is always going to leave.” Sherlock was surprised to find that Mrs. Hudson sounded quite put out. 

“You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes, I am going to tell you the same thing I told John. You two love each other so bloody much and have since the day you met. You will promise me that you will stop this nonsense and just enjoy each other. You are a family now, the three of you and you will be stupidly happy. I will not have any other outcome. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Good. Now please tell John that I expect another update as soon as you can. Willa misses you both.”

“Of course, I’ll let him know. Goodbye.”

They both rang off. Sherlock felt a little embarrassed at having been lectured by his landlady. But she had never been just a landlady, had she.

John picked that moment to reappear and was greeted with a warm hug and a kiss. 

"What was that for?"

"Making up for lost time. Mrs. Hudson says Willa is well. I haven't spoken with Mycroft yet."

"Let's go find him."

\--

Anthea had obviously provided Mycroft with a change of clothes as well because he was back to his usual bespoke suited self. He rose when they entered the waiting area.

"The surgery was successful in repairing the damage, she should make a full recovery."

John nodded, relieved. "That's good. Now what happens?"

"When she wakes, I will offer her a job."

"What?" John's confusion was palpable. Sherlock didn't look surprised at all.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm amazed that you didn't get her to sign up before she lost consciousness."

"Oh Sherlock, even I am not that unfeeling."

This only received a snort. John was still trying to understand. "Will somebody please tell me what's going on?"

"My brother, after seeing Mary in action, has decided to offer her a job instead of sacrificing her to Eastern Europe."

"Oh. That actually makes sense."

Sherlock gave him an approving look. John had been impressed with Mary's skills, even though he knew how she had used them in the past. And if anyone could keep an eye on her, it was Mycroft Holmes.

"I will of course require that she sever contact with any known associates in London to maintain her new identity."

It was Sherlock's turn to look confused. "Why on earth would she agree to that?"

"She was willing to die on a mission. She won't give up the chance to live on a mission."

"She is a very good shot."

John paled. "Don't joke about that."

Sherlock looked at him and felt a remorse with which he was unfamiliar. He took John in his arms, ignoring Mycroft's raised eyebrow. He leaned against him and pressed his lips to his temple.

"Sorry."

"It's ok. That was just way too close. I just couldn’t-”

He broke off, pressing his face into Sherlock’s neck. Mycroft cleared his throat.

“She should be awake soon. Would you like to be on hand?”

“I think so. What do you think?” John looked up at Sherlock. 

“I think you need to be there. I think I should return to the house and give Mrs. Hudson a break with Willa. I believe she still has some choice words to say to me anyway and I’d rather not prolong the inevitable.”

“You’d do that?” John was still surprised when Sherlock took it upon himself to take care of Willa or even thought about making the offer. “You don’t have to. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will be fine until I get there.”

“Let me, John.” Sherlock looked at him very intently, putting his hands on his shoulders. “This is what I need to do, what we need to do.”

John nodded at him, stunned at this pronouncement. “Alright then. Call me when you get there.”

“I will.” Sherlock gave him a final kiss and strode to the exit where one of Mycroft’s perpetual car and driver was waiting.

John looked at Mycroft who looked just as stunned as John felt. “I’m not saying a word. You?”

Mycroft just shook his head.

\--

Sherlock had an ulterior motive for leaving the hospital ahead of John. He had ignored everything and everyone for weeks to give the Sherrinford situation his full attention and now it was time to focus. Mrs. Hudson, in her own way, had illuminated the fact that he would have to work at this. Being a family. He had never wanted to share himself with anyone else until he met John and now he was sharing himself with Willa as well.

Sherlock knew that he was a selfish, arrogant arsehole that had prided himself on his self-reliance and his ability to outthink anyone. But that had changed. He was still the same arrogant arsehole, but he wasn’t just living for himself anymore. Hadn’t been for a long time but had been too blind to see it. 

And when he had finally let himself acknowledge the fact that he could not live without this man, who had fallen into his life by way of simply needing to share the rent, it had been too late. He was out of his reach and getting married. Sherlock didn’t believe in fate or any such tripe, but he had to admit that something had intervened on his behalf. 

He had given himself, body and soul, to John Watson and now it was time to get to know the rest of his family.

\--

Mary opened her eyes. The light was too bright and she blinked slowly, trying to acclimate herself. She turned her head and saw John sitting in the plastic chair beside the bed, reading a magazine. He looked much better than the last time she had seen him and she could feel a smile starting to form. And then it all came rushing back, it was over. They were over. Ford was dead and couldn’t hurt them anymore. And John was lost to her.

She shut her eyes again, hoping that she could feign sleep for just a bit longer but he had noticed the movement. He put the magazine down and took her hand gently. It was unbearable.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was kind. It was awful.

“Like I got shot. How bad is it?”

“You lost a lot of blood but the overall damage wasn’t too severe. You’ll make a full recovery and should regain full motion with physical therapy.”

“That’s good.” It was good. That meant that she could still work. Going after Sherrinford had brought back skills that she had put behind her years ago. It had also proven that her past would never leave her to live a normal life. John and Willa would be safe with Sherlock. He would make sure of it. She had faith in him.

She took her hand back from John. She would make this easy for him. She owed him that much after all that she had done.

“John, I-,” she hesitated. This was going to be hard but it would be for the best. “I don’t think you should come and see me here again.”

He gave her a confused look. “Why not?”

“I can’t run from my past. I tried, and look what happened. So, I’m letting you go. You and Willa. Completely.” She could feel the hot tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “This is how it had to be. I know you understand that.”

“But-”

“No. I signed the paperwork and Mycroft will file it for you. He’s taking care of selling the flat, so you don’t have to worry about it. I want you to take Willa and I want both of you to live a normal life.” She considered this. “Well, as normal a life as you can possibly have with Sherlock.”

John choked out a small laugh. He should have known. Mary had always been the practical one. He had truly loved her once, but that was gone now. The damage had been too great. She had been the one to see that she had never owned the whole of his heart, even before Sherlock had come back.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing left to say. It’s done.”

He rose to his feet. “Mycroft is waiting outside. I’ll send him in.”

She nodded. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Goodbye, John.”

\--

John arrived back at the safehouse to find Sherlock fast asleep on the sofa in the sitting room, Willa snuggled up under his chin. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight and felt the knot in his chest loosen. He took out his mobile and snapped a quick picture. He just couldn’t help it.

He found Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen where she had shooed the cook away to make tea herself. “How long have they been asleep?”

“Just for a bit. He came in and demanded that I hand Willa over so that he could, how did he put it, properly tend to her needs. So I left him to it.” She gave John a conspiratorial grin. “He lasted all of five minutes before swanning in and informing me that the nappy that I gave him was defective. It was backwards.”

John smothered a giggle. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“You’ll have plenty of time for that, dear.” She paused. “You are planning to come back to Baker Street, aren’t you? I wasn’t sure, after that last stunt.”

“Yeah. We have a lot to talk about. But I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”


	19. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The end! Thank you to all that have read and commented and left kudos!

Epilogue

There was no funeral.

Sherrinford's body was cremated rather quickly and the ashes disposed of, all of which was overseen by Mycroft. Their parents invited them all out to their house for the weekend, and that was as much of a memorial as he was going to get. 

Mary did not attend, even though they did not know the full story. Mycroft had followed through on his job offer. She had accepted on the condition that there be no further contact. It was the last act of love that she could offer and Mycroft agreed.

They were delighted to have John and Willa there, and were tactful enough to not ask too many questions about the state of things between him and Sherlock. The fact that they shared Sherlock's old bedroom was statement enough.

And then finally, _finally_ , they went back to Baker Street. Mycroft had arranged for Sherlock's lab to be completed in 221C while they were gone. Sherlock immediately went down there to get things set up to his liking.

Mycroft had also taken it upon himself to set up John's old bedroom for Willa. It affected John so much that he was still sitting up there in the rocking chair with Willa when Sherlock came to find him.

"Anthea arranged it, you know."

"It's lovely, Sherlock. I really don't care who did it."

"It's acceptable."

John laughed, eyes crinkling. "You love it, admit it."

"I love you."

John swallowed. He was still getting used to Sherlock's new found freedom with those words. 

"Did I ever tell you where we got the name Willa from?"

"No. I just assumed it was a family name."

"In a way. You're telling me that you can't deduce it?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "From your insipid grin, I can tell that you're dying to tell me so do get on with it."

John just laughed harder. "Okay, okay. I'll give you a hint, William."

Sherlock was dumbstruck. He started to speak, mouth opening and then closing. He finally resorted to just blinking rapidly at John while he tried to parse the information.

John stood, still holding Willa in his arm, and put a hand on his shoulder. "So, yes, you are correct. It is a family name." Sherlock was still silent. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock just nodded. He cupped his hand around Willa's head and gently kissed her forehead. Then he did the same thing to John, leaning their foreheads together.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything."

\--

_Ten months later_

“Sherlock!”

At the sound of his name, Sherlock stomped up the stairs from his lab in 221C not bothering to remove his goggles. He knew what he had done and it was best just to get it over with.

“Yes, John?”

“It looks like a newsagent exploded up here! We have exactly two hours before people will be here.”

Sherlock sighed. He had given up hope that John would forego this tiresome ritual, but he had insisted that Willa would have a first birthday party and that Sherlock would be there and he would be pleasant. It was going to be so tedious. Even Mycroft had agreed to come and he was bringing their parents.

“I’ll take care of it. Willa and I were examining the effect of saliva on different types of newsprint. I asked Mrs. Hudson to watch her while I processed the samples.”

John shook his head. “So you and Willa licked newspapers while I was out at the shops.”

“If you wish to simplify such an experiment into layman’s terms, the answer would be yes.”

John collapsed into his chair, shoulders shaking with laughter. “I love you so much.”

Sherlock just stared at him, this was not the reaction he was expecting. He had expected that John would be angry at the state of the flat and would be in a strop until Sherlock cleaned it up.

“I know. And I you.” He didn't always say the words outright. He told John he loved him in his own way.

John stood, eyes shining. He pushed Sherlock’s goggles up so that they rested on top of his head and took his face in his hands. “Marry me.”

Sherlock blinked. They had never talked about this. He had always assumed that John would never want to do that again after his last marriage had ended in such disaster. It would hold bad memories for him so why was John saying this? He realized that he had been standing there in silence, while John waited patiently.

“Why?” he croaked out.

“Because I love you and I know that you want to adopt Willa. I want that too.” John ran a thumb over Sherlock’s cheekbone. He knew that Sherlock would react this way and that he would have to wait for him to process it.

Sherlock had gone silent again. How had John figured that one out? He did want to adopt Willa. He had never thought that he would enjoy having a child around, but she was exceptional. He loved her fiercely and all he wanted was to protect her. John wanted to do this. Wanted to do this _with_ him. He smiled.

“My clever John.” He kissed John, a soft, sweet slide of lips. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

John pulled him into a not so sweet kiss and then hugged him tightly. Sherlock had a thought and pulled back just a bit.

“Do we have to tell Mummy? She’ll make such a fuss.”

“Yes. _You_ are going to tell her and _you_ are going to allow her to make as much fuss as she likes.”

“But, John…”

John cut him off with another kiss. “How long is Mrs. Hudson watching Willa?”

“We have about an hour.”

“Good.” John grabbed him by the wrist to drag him towards their bedroom.

“Wait! What about the mess? I was going to-”

“Bugger the mess. I have a new fiance to shag.”

“Fiance. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too, love. Me too.”


End file.
